


Freckles and Constellations

by hanlovespasta



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Depression, Double Life, High School, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Online Relationship, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Thoughts, Tree Bros, aka weed unless you include prescription meds, and connor loves space, angst (probably?), evan is a tree nerd, gotta love angst, so many bmc references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-03-11 06:27:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 73,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13518447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanlovespasta/pseuds/hanlovespasta
Summary: As per request by his therapist, Evan joins an online support group under the pen name "Carter" and befriends a boy named Leo. The summer before his senior year, Evan realizes there are three problems with his current situation:1) Abandoning everything he's ever known, he's moved to Elmwood, California to live with his mom's new fiancée, who might as well be a complete stranger.2) Elmwood happens to be the town Leo lives in.3) Evan can't bring himself to admit it, because he's hopelessly, madly crushing on him.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> hi!! thanks for clicking on this!! hope you enjoy your stay!  
> title inspired by "freckles and constellations" by dodie clark, story inspired by all the cheesy online love stories out there that warm my heart and remind me soulmates can find each other no matter what :)

**Inbox: You have one (1) new message on Stigma!**

**@leo:** so, are you all packed?

 **@carter:** Yup. You know, it’s strange seeing my entire life packed away in just a couple of boxes. I’ve become strangely aware of just how little I have. Clothes, laptop, books. Also, the boxes are labeled fragile.

 **@leo:** ironic. wait, no decorations to make the new room feel more like home?

 **@carter:** I have a couple of posters, but... I don’t think anything is going to make this feel normal.

 **@carter:** My mom’s calling me. I guess the moving truck is here. IM me later?

 **@leo:** counting down the minutes ;)

His fingers hovering over his keyboard, Evan racks his brain to come up with a witty response to Leo’s flirty emoticon. After a moment of debating between sending one back and sending a normal goodbye text, he decides to ignore the idea completely and pockets his cell phone, sighing.

A knock at his bedroom door alerts his attention behind him, and he spots his mother poking her head through the doorway. There is a warm smile on her lips, eyes stenciled with laughter lines.

“Ready to go, honey?” She prompts sheepishly, cracking the door open slightly wider. Evan mumbles an affirmative response and stacks the two cardboard boxes in his arms, balancing them against his chest. Watching him struggle with the weight, his mom wordlessly takes one off his hands.

Before he steps out the door, Evan takes one last look at the bedroom he’s known for the past seventeen years. Baby blue walls, chipping slightly where his bed frame and dresser used to be. Residue on the ceiling from cheap glow-in-the-dark stars that he’d count (twenty-three) before falling asleep. The windowsill, where he kept his bottles of anxiety medication, lined up neatly in a row.

Although the room itself wasn’t that remarkable, nor did he make any spectacular discoveries or memories here, he felt a pang of remorse, knowing in a matter of weeks it would become the bedroom for another child, hopefully one who grew up a little more _normal._

“Evan, the U-Haul’s waiting,” Heidi reminds him from the foot of the stairs, and Evan shuts the door before he can take one last look, grabs his duffel bag, and bounds down the stairs.

One of the last of the boxes is placed in the moving truck, the handler secures the storage compartment while Evan, his duffel bag, and his mom pile in her Civic, which, too, is filled to the brim with extra boxes. Evan focuses on buckling his seatbelt, his hands shaking as he struggles to insert the buckle into the fastener, while his mother starts the car.

She turns on the radio, an old 80’s CD, while Evan mindlessly stares out the window. He tries not to think about the fact that the CD belonged to his father’s collection, and tunes out the guitar riffs by focusing on his own thoughts.

It’s not until they’ve been on I-5 for half an hour when Heidi finally speaks up, turning down the volume dial.

“I know this is hard for you, honey,” She says softly, carefully choosing her words. Evan always hated that tone of voice; it was like she’s talking down a person from jumping off a bridge. “But I think you realize that this is best for both of us. Change… is good sometimes.”

 _Change?_ Evan thinks bitterly. Change is deciding to wear his Converse instead of his usual beaten-up Vans to school. Change is packing sushi from the supermarket for lunch instead of egg salad. This wasn’t change. This was erasing the treasure map he’s been drawing for his entire life and asking him to find his way to safety. This was _metamorphic_.

But of course, he doesn’t say that.

Instead, he nods and says “Yeah.” Which is probably the lamest response in the world, especially to a mother who is just trying to reach out to his only child, especially after their lives have been torn apart, but he can’t bring himself to meet her halfway. Not today.

And so, he puts in his earbuds and doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the car ride.

\- - - -

The moment Evan steps foot into the two-story modern house, he hates it. It is weirdly stacked blocks of concrete and black wood reinforcements, with cacti and other desert-looking plants in the lush front yard, and three palm trees framing the driveway.

It’s nothing like his old two-bedroom apartment, near-broken appliances and walls molding slightly from all the rain. He didn’t care it was cramped and run down; it was his home. He keeps his eyes trained on the polished stone walkway until he’s at the front door.

The few moments between his mother’s pressing of the doorbell and the door unlocking, Evan swallows and tries to process that this is his life now. Unfortunately, six seconds isn’t enough time to accept he’s no longer living in Seattle; rather, a rich suburb of San Francisco, with a stepdad and stepsister he’s never met until this moment.

“Heidi!” The man who opens the door smiles excitedly, immediately pulling her in for a kiss. Evan forces himself to look away. “It’s good to see you got here safely. And you must be Evan. Please, come in. Make yourselves at home.”

He doesn’t notice his mother and his future stepdad were wrapped up in a passionate conversation about mundane things such as “how was the drive” and “when will the rest of your belongings get here”, and yet there’s so much love in their voices it makes him sick.

The first thing he _does_ notice is the giant ceilings. Just like the exterior, everything on the inside is unnaturally perfect, from white walls to pristine white couches and expensive-looking art decor.

“Evan, this is Peter,” Heidi introduces him, the unspoken words being _your future stepdad, the one I met at a medical convention on a cruise ship, and chose to elope with three weeks later._ Even though his dad only left a little over a year ago. Still, he forces his mouth to twist upwards in something resembling a smile and they shake hands.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Heidi has told me wonderful things,” Peter gushes, his smile never leaving his face as Evan tries to judge him in a snapshot. Light stubble. Firm handshake. Wearing a pastel blue button up tucked into jeans-- on a Saturday. Evan feels underdressed in his worn-out graphic t-shirt and sweatpants. “Here let, me show you your room so you can settle in.”

Peter leads him up the winding staircase, and Evan traces the painted handlebar hesitantly, lugging his duffel bag with his other hand. The upstairs is just as nice as the foyer, and Evan wished he thought of taking off his shoes. Now, he’s terrified he’s going to track dirt on the white carpet and can’t focus on anything else. Glancing behind him subtly, he breathes with relief when he sees nothing.

Peter opens the door to a room down the hallway and says something about settling in, but Evan doesn’t hear him, because he’s too busy staring at his new “bedroom”. Bedroom wasn’t really the right word, it was more of a hotel room, white furniture - _shocker_ \- and styled with pops of color, like the vase of sunflowers on the dresser, the red blanket tossed on the duvet, and the multicolored books on an antique bookshelf.

“Feel free to hang up or decorate in any way you like. We have other guest rooms if you don’t like this one, but I thought you might like the view. Your mom tells me you like nature, so…” He trails off awkwardly, scratching his stubble while Evan steps towards the window and adjusts the blinds. His view is of the backyard, which is surrounded by a beautiful storybook forest. It’s perhaps the only part of this suburb Evan prefers over Seattle; big cities don’t really have much green.

“Thank you,” Evan says softly, and Peter takes his words as a cue to leave him alone, pointing him towards the intercom system if he needs anything else, which is just the tipping point of ridiculousness. _Just how rich was he, anyway?_

Kicking off his shoes, he flops on the bed, disgusted by how comfortable and plush it is. He takes out his phone and pulls up his last conversation with Leo.

 **@carter:** I hate this. So much.

 **@leo:** that bad?

 **@carter:** They have a freaking INTERCOM SYSTEM, Leo. And everything is so perfect and clean. It’s bad enough this guy is paying my tuition next year. Now I’m terrified to add stain damage to my running tab.

 **@leo:** goddamn rich pricks. my dad thinks that just because he can, he drives a flashy corvette, and my mom spends thousands on modern art that looks like it’s designed by a third-grader. is it just you and the new stepdad?

 **@carter:** I think there is a stepsister around here somewhere. No sign of her yet.

 **@leo:** this is starting to sound like your very own cinderella story.

 **@carter:** Ha, ha. *sarcasm*

 **@carter:** What’s worse is that all my stuff won’t get here for a few more days, so all I have to make this room mine is shoved into one measly duffel bag.

Texting while he unpacks said bag, Evan takes out the only possessions that make his room more personal: a stuffed bear from his childhood, his leather journal, and a photo frame of him and his father, taken when he was about four. He's clutching onto his dad's leg like a monkey, a deathly grip that he laughs at as the photo is taken. Evan remembers the story of the photo; his mother always explained he hated to see them go, even if it was just out to dinner. His dad had promised he'd always come back. And he did.

Until he didn't.

Setting the frame on his bedside table,  Evan makes his way into the bathroom, a fancy ensuite he just assumed to be a closet door. On the counter are monogrammed shea butter soaps that smell too expensive to use or even touch. He tosses his toiletries in one of the drawers, not wanting to interfere with the perfection.

 **@leo** : poor cinderella. you’ll have to escape sometime and see if there’s something interesting in this new town of yours.

 **@leo:** which you still haven’t told me the name of, by the way.

Evan reads the texts twice, trying to come up with a response. Normally, he wouldn’t withhold any information from Leo; the two had been talking for several months now, ever since his old therapist introduced him to Stigma. The interface was primarily used as a quick daily journaling app, but it also featured an online support group that matched up troubled kids with similar issues.

It had sounded like a disaster waiting to happen at first, but Evan quickly learned the appeal of becoming completely anonymous. He liked the fact that the email feature was like getting extra time on a test. In real life, he’d trip over sentences and mumble incoherently. Online, he could rework his words, fine-tuning them with witty, effortless banter and wisdom. The extra few seconds are like a blessing, giving him the time he needs to be the better, edited version of himself.

Plus, he was matched with Leo, who ended up being someone funny and enjoyable to talk to, and long after his therapist forgot about it, they continued talking over the app’s instant messaging feature. In fact, they talked so much, Evan knew so much about Leo he often considered him as his best friend. Maybe his only friend.

He’s told Leo everything. The little things, like his favorite color (blue - they agreed upon this) and what super power he’d have (teleportation - he was already invisible most of the time). But Leo knows the big things too. His father’s abandonment, his mother’s sudden remarriage, his failed suicide attempt.

But not this.

 _And for such a stupid reason too_ , Evan admits, but he can’t bring himself to tell him that he’s moved to Elmwood, the same town Leo lives in. All Leo knows is he has packed up and left Seattle to some rich new neighborhood somewhere in the country, and Evan intends to keep it like that.

This way, Leo can never find out how much of a screw-up he is in real life: the boy with the messy hair (and not in the effortless, cute way), the uncontrollable stutter, and a crippling anxiety disorder.

 **@carter:** That’s just all a part of my mysterious, anonymous charm.

 **@leo:** you suck.

It has absolutely nothing to do with Evan’s massive online crush on the boy that he’ll never admit, in person or otherwise.

No, he wants this to last. Even if it’s just for a little bit longer.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evan is a really shitty Cinderella.

Lying in his-but-not-really-his bed, Evan has decided that tonight he is going to run away.

At first, he wonders if anyone will even notice. Surely, his mother will be too wrapped up in wedding preparations with Peter to care, especially after how exhausted she’s been with moving. Not to mention, this house is so large and echoing and _empty_ it’ll take a while for anyone to tell he’s gone.

With music in the background, he slips into his thoughts and creates his plan. First, he’ll smile through dinner, stumble through small talk, and escape into his bedroom early. Then, he’ll wait until everyone falls asleep, sneak out through his window, and escape to the nearest bus station, taking the first bus ride out of there.

He has enough money saved up from old birthday checks and savings bonds to get an apartment and live in hiding for the six months until he turns eighteen. Thinking of the plan gives him an ounce of comfort, like he finally has control of something now.

Evan must have drifted off amongst his thinking, because the soft knock on the door alerts him to consciousness. His mom leans against the wall, studying him. Evan sits up, rubbing his eyes.

“So, what do you think?” She asks of the house, gesturing one arm out as if to say _we lucked out, right?_ Sure, Evan thinks the silence beats the sounds of neighbors’ footsteps and beeping traffic below, but it’s not _home_ , and it never will be.

But she just looked so happy and excited for them, so Evan couldn’t let her down with his pessimism. She’d turned helpless ever since his dad left, always paranoid and shaken. She lost weight and became distant, unable to function without her other half. While she buried herself into work and nighttime college classes, Evan quickly learned to take care of himself; cooking pasta, scheduling doctors’ appointments, signing his own field trip permission forms.

He made do. Both of them did. For a while, he was so busy holding himself together that he lost himself along the way and how things used to be.

He remembers how as a kid, he would climb into his parents’ bed in the middle of the night when he had a nightmare, and his dad would stroke his hair, and his mother would read his favorite bedtime story over and over. She’d whisper to count the stars. And they’d fall asleep, squished in an Evan sandwich, and Evan was warm and happy.

It’s been almost a year, and Evan doesn’t know how his mother can act like none of that happened, that none of it _mattered_ now, because Dad was gone and now, sitting in his place was Peter, a man who only seemed to partially fill the void.

He hasn’t yet learned how to talk about any of this-- he can tell Leo about auto-shipping groceries to his apartment, or happier moments of his childhood, about how _broken_ he feels. But he hasn’t yet gained the courage, the _words_ to describe to talk about his dad. Who he really is. At least, not in a way that makes everyone turn their eyes away in pity.

Sometimes it feels like he’s forgotten how to talk altogether.

“I love it, Mom,” He forces a smile. His mom is one of the very few people he can talk to without stuttering. “I mean, this room is three times the size of my old one.”

“It’s like we’re living in a copy of _Architectural Digest_ ,” She jokes, and behind her words, Evan knows that he’s uncomfortable having just moved into a house full of strangers, and the way her gaze soften tells him she’ll give him time to adjust.

It wouldn’t matter though. The problem isn’t the beachy villa or lack of homey coziness; rather, that his dad isn’t there. Nor would he ever be. And with that in mind, Evan figured there were bigger things to worry about than his physical location.

“Want to come down for dinner? Peter’s making lasagna,” Heidi offers, and Evan shrugs, pocketing his phone and heading towards the door.

Before Evan can leave his room, though, she pulls him in for a hug. Like clockwork, his head instinctively lies on her shoulder - he’s grown several inches taller than her in recent years - and melts into her flowery scent. No matter what they go through, no matter how far he drifts away, gestures like these pull him back into shore.

“We’re going to be okay, you know,” She says softly, ruffling his hair reassuringly. “Now, come on. Dinner’s waiting.”

By the time they reach downstairs, Evan sees four placemats set at the kitchen nook, with fancy cloth napkins. While Heidi starts helping him by the stove, Evan awkwardly asks if Peter needs any other help with dinner, and his enthusiastic response ends up putting Evan on silverware duty.

“We’ll only need three table settings,” Peter tells him as he stirs a pot of homemade tomato sauce. “Jared’s out with some friends tonight, some sort of study group, but you’ll be able to meet him tomorrow.”

“Jared?” Evan echoes curiously.

“My son,” Peter turns around and smiles. “He’s about your age. You both will be entering senior year at Redwood next week, actually.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, isn’t it, Evan?” Heidi beams as he shares the news. “You already have someone who could be a great friend!”

“Yeah,” Evan deadpans when they’re not looking, glancing out the window. _Redwood…_ He notices the backyard is filled with redwood trees, tucked between oak and pine. He’d read about the redwood subfamily genera in some books earlier that year, recalling that the species contained some of the largest and tallest trees in the world. Plus, they were mainly native to California and Oregon.

Evan sits in silence, his gaze flickering between the backyard view and the two adults. It makes him squeamish to watch as they knock arms when they cook, goofy, lovestruck smiles on their faces. Still, he hasn’t seen his mom this happy in a while, so he bites his lip and decides he can take it for a few more hours until he makes his escape.

When dinner is served, Evan keeps his gaze focused on his food. It looks delicious, but when he takes a bite, it’s everything that lasagna should not taste like.

“It’s vegan and gluten-free. Good, right?” Peter asks through a mouthful of food. Evan tries his best not to cringe, and he swallows.

“I’ve never had anything like it,” He eventually says, earning a chuckle from the man. Evan wonders if he knows that’s polite-person code for _this is disgusting and I hate it._

Still, he’d rather die than embarrass himself and his mom by not eating, so he makes do by slowly torturing himself, swallowing tiny bites and chasing them down with water and green beans.

“You know what? This evening calls for a celebration,” Peter decides, pushing his chair back and walking to a cabinet. Rummaging around, he retrieves three wine glasses and a bottle of Merlot. Evan looks to his mom, who says nothing, so he doesn’t either. “Let’s toast. To a new beginning.”

“To the next chapter of our lives,” Heidi pipes in, and they clink glasses. Evan takes a sip, and it’s not as bad as he thought it would be, but he doesn’t touch it again anyway.

“Oh, and of course,” Peter raises his glass towards Heidi. “A toast to wish you luck at your new job!”

“New job?” Evan repeats aloud, and she nods proudly. “Mom, where are you going to start working?” Evan asks, not necessarily to make small talk, but because she hasn’t said anything about it and Evan feels wrong about free-loading on his future stepdad’s mystery wealth.

“I have a job lined up at Alta Bates Summit,” She explains excitedly, launching into an explanation about how this fancy medical center is linked up with the college campus at Berkeley and having a job there could get him a tuition discount. Evan puts on a fake smile and nods at all the right times, happy to see her get so excited about his future, even if he didn’t have one. Luckily, Peter is there to ask questions and act interested, and Evan slowly falls silent.

Under the table, he takes out his phone.

 **@carter:** Update: The lasagna is vegan AND gluten-free. Get me out of this hell. (Also, I have wine.)

Leo's reply is almost instantaneous, and it brings a small smile to Evan's face.

 **@leo:** that is an atrocity to good pasta. i don’t like him already. (also, it would be really entertaining to see you with wine. too bad i’m not there)

Evan bites back a sigh, now realizing the unspoken irony of his current situation.

 **@carter:** So far, this dinner has consistently reminded me my life has been flipped upside down. New town, new house, new stepdad, new school-- oh, and new stepbrother. Who apparently couldn’t make it to our first night here because he had “study plans”.

 **@leo:** he sounds like a piece of shit. also this is a low-rent cinderella story, but you’ll make it through, princess. you need to get out of there.

If Leo calls him princess one more time, Evan is positive he is going to spontaneously combust.

 **@carter:** Don’t worry. I have a plan.

Which, in all honesty, was starting to sound really good about now, even if it wasn’t what Leo meant. So Evan excuses himself, mumbling something about being tired from all the travel, and holds his breath until he’s safe in the bedroom.

Packing everything he had taken out before (which wasn’t much), Evan shoves everything messily into his duffel bag and sets it near the window. He regrets packing his laptop in the U-Haul, but figures it’s not worth three days to wait for. He shuts the blinds before hopping into bed, grabbing his headphones.

Years of insomnia has trained Evan in the art of killing time, and he falls into his usual routine: scrolling through Instagram, which is filled with picture-perfect images of old acquaintances from school (who probably have already forgotten him by now). He moves to YouTube next, watching every video in his subscription feed, eventually falling in the bottomless pit of the internet and watching a video about giraffes.

Around eleven, he hears soft footsteps - his mother, most likely - and figures Peter would be going to bed within the next half hour or so.

This proves to be wrong around one in the morning, when he can still hear shuffling around the house and from his window, the dim glow of lights on downstairs.

When he gets sick of staring at a screen, he opens his music app and scrolls through his list of many playlists. When he gets bored, Evan likes to make a mix of songs that correlate to a specific mood. He flips through titles like _Bored_ (00’s pop and showtunes) _Angry_ (an embarrassingly extensive collection of My Chemical Romance and other emo bands) , and _Dad_ (his father’s favorite 80’s songs-- he only listened to this on the days he missed him the most). Eventually, he finds the one he’s looking for, _Sleep_ , sets his alarm for 4:00 am, and closes his eyes. Soft classical music fills his head and he’s blissfully unaware of his own thoughts.

Hours later, when the alarm noise jolts him to reality, Evan feels like he hasn’t properly slept at all, only that his mind temporarily shut down. He takes out his earbuds and creeps toward his door, listening for any sign of noise.

Satisfied when he hears nothing, Evan grabs his duffel bag and tosses it out the window. His room being on the second floor, his only option to get down is to scale the tree next to his window, which proves easy from years of climbing experience. Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Evan breathes in the fresh air of freedom as he dashes through the backyard and into the woods.

However, he hasn’t been concealed by the trees yet when he sees a light flicker on in the house and a door opening. _Shoot,_ Evan thinks, going into panic mode and running twice as quickly. _Wait, where is the nearest bus station around here? Oh, Evan, why didn’t you plan this better instead of wasting hours of time on the internet? You’re such an idiot._

He slips into the forest, eventually coming out in another section of the neighborhood, approaching a tall picket fence. He has two options: one, turn around and admit defeat, and two, jump the fence of a stranger’s house and reach freedom.

One last look at the house makes the decision clear. _This is not where I belong,_ he decides, nodding. The fence has suddenly become the better option.

 _Okay._ He tells himself. _You got this._

Except, he doesn’t. He may be skilled in tree-climbing, but he had never hopped a fence before, and struggles to find solid footing. Amidst his panic, he swears he hears the faint noise of music in the distance.

“Evan?” A voice whisper-shouts in the distance, and Evan’s heart beats faster. An adrenaline rush pushes him to swing one leg over the fence and tumble ungracefully to the other side, landing on the grass.

He’s successfully in the backyard, prepared to make a break for it, when a pair of eyes catches his eye.

At first, Evan thinks he’s seeing things. After all, it’s not every day you see a person on a _rooftop_ , at four in the morning, no less. The person, a teenage girl, seems to be caught between glaring and watching him curiously. She knows Evan’s running, and she’s enjoying the show. Evan can’t help it, but he scowls, as if to say _you’re no help_ , and she disappears.

Evan goes to pick up his duffel bag, paling when he sees some of the contents spilled out of it. It must’ve come undone when he tossed it off the second floor. _Just perfect,_ Evan thinks sarcastically, tossing the books and clothes back into the bag as quickly as he can, but it’s not quick enough, because the rustling of leaves and footsteps freezes him in place.

“Evan, what are you doing?” Peter asks him from the other side of the fence. Evan doesn’t detect any anger in his voice, only worry, and it sends a pang of guilt through his heart as he shoots to his feet.

“I’m- uh-” Evan fumbles over his words, wringing his hands behind his back. Without his mom there as a buffer, he’s at a loss. He looks everywhere but Peter, whose green eyes flicker with disappointment.

“Sorry, Mr. Kleinman,” An unknown voice pipes up from behind Evan, and Evan whips around to see the same stranger, now on the ground, walking towards them. “Evan just came over here to tell me to turn down my music. I tend to blast it louder than I should at this time of night.”

Evan stares at him, mouth not-so-subtly agape. Closer up, he gets a better look at the person. The first thing he realizes is the person is not a girl, but a boy with grown-out hair, messy and curling behind his ears. Secondly, he has grass stains on a worn-out black hoodie, at which he pulls the strings unconsciously. And lastly, how was this guy so easily covering for him, when they didn't even know each other?

“Oh, I see,” Peter says softly, glancing between the two of them. He looks to Evan, who nods meekly to confirm, swept up in the lie. “Well, it’s late. I should be getting to bed, and so should you, Evan. Nice to see you again, Connor.”

“You too, sir,” The boy named Connor bites back what Evan recognizes as a smirk as Peter turns away and disappears into the forest. Once left alone with the stranger, Evan feels adrenaline racing through his heart again. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“T-thanks,” Evan mutters.

“Guess your running away will have to wait for another night, huh?” Connor guesses, crossing his arms over his chest. Evan hates the way the taller boy looks down on him, like he’s figured him out in two seconds and they both know it. He hates the way the boy’s eyes narrow judgmentally, so quick to assume the worst.

“I- I wasn’t--”

“Sure,” Not believing it for a second, Connor glances down at the open duffel bag at Evan’s feet. Evan blushes in embarrassment and digs his toe into the grass, avoiding his gaze.

Evan picks up the bag and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, trying to think of the right thing to say. “I should go…” Is the first reasonable thing he decides, and the boy shrugs one shoulder indifferently. As he walks away, the boy speaks up again.

“Hey. Next time, just use the gate.” He points down the ways, and Evan flushes darker, glad it’s dark enough to hide it. He couldn’t believe he was so stupid as to not notice the obvious gate right in front of him.

Nodding and mumbling another thanks, Evan backs away before he has a chance to embarrass himself further. He takes one last look and sees the boy scaling the side of the house, disappearing on the roof again.

A dry sigh passes by his lips as he navigates through the dark forest, which is much scarier when his eyesight isn’t flooded with adrenaline. He picks up the pace and doesn’t look back until he’s back at the tree. Evan realizes he didn’t know how to get his bag up to the second floor, and stashes it behind a bush, vowing to get it in the morning.

Evan only feels how exhausted he is when he’s safe back in the room, flopping into bed again. There is no sign of Peter or his mom, and he breathes a sigh of relief, hiding under the sheets.

As usual, he can’t fall asleep, but this time, he doesn’t have his glow-in-the-dark stars to count, nor does he have his music playlist. All he has to occupy his intrusive thoughts is replaying his interaction with the stranger over and over again until the words melt together and he isn’t sure if he’s dreaming or awake.

Needless to say, he doesn’t get much sleep that night.


	3. three

Evan has realized Peter Kleinman may be the nicest, most forgiving person on the planet. Or maybe the most dense. Either way, he thinks his runaway crisis has been miraculously avoided.

When he finds the strength to get out of bed the next morning, the first thing he notices is his duffel bag, sitting on the carpet by his bedroom door. His heart fills with regret when he lays eyes on it, quickly replaced with panic when he wonders if Peter will tell his mom.

 _She’s going to be so mad at you,_ Evan berates himself, rushing into the ensuite and locking the door. _She’s going to know you hate it here, and now you’ve ruined her happiness and everything she deserves, all because you’re so damn selfish, you can’t handle living in this wonderful house just because it’s slightly different and--_

Sigh.

Evan unpacks for the second time, focusing on being meticulous as possible in order to avoid going downstairs and facing Peter. He refolds all his clothes (which isn’t difficult, just carbon copies of the same outfit) and places them all into one drawer. The childhood bear goes on top of the dresser, next to his photo frame, and his journal is tucked under his pillow.

He decides to put his toiletries on the counter this time, knowing he probably won’t get a chance to run off again anytime soon. Taking them out of his bag, he realizes all he has is a toothbrush and a stick of deodorant, and it dawns on him that he’s forgotten toothpaste.

What’s worse is he _really_ needed to brush his teeth. His mouth felt syrupy, like he could practically feel bacteria sliding around on his teeth.

Evan bites back a groan of frustration, and after a moment of trying to mitigate the problem with gargling water, he gives up and ventures out into the unknown-- er, the hallway.

He’s opening doors cautiously, looking for his mom to borrow her toothpaste. _Why are there so many doors in this house_ , Evan thinks in frustration as he finds another guest room and a closet. The third door he doesn’t get to open, however, because it flies open before he can grab the handle.

“What the fuck?” A voice gasps, and Evan freezes in his place. He was one step away from colliding into yet another stranger. Judging by the fact he’s still in his pajamas and they look the same age, Evan assumes him to be Jared. “Who are _you_?”

Okay, so Evan doesn’t really like Jared’s attitude so far.

“E-Evan Hansen,” Evan stutters nervously, shoving his hands in his sweatpant pockets. Jared’s face shifts in recognition, and he sighs in frustration. So clearly Jared isn’t too thrilled for him to be here. Evan doesn’t really mind. He feels the same, anyway.

“Right. Well, Evan, would you move? You are kindly blocking my way,” Jared says with a sarcastic flourish of his hand. Evan notices his classes sit crookedly on his nose-- he must’ve just woken up. Evan makes a mental note to avoid him in the mornings. Evan nods and steps to the side, and Jared brushes by him without so much as a thank you. He’s just about to disappear downstairs when Evan calls out his name.

“What?” Jared frowns.

“D-do you…” Evan mumbles, the connection between his brain and mouth shutting down. He clenches his fists behind his back as Jared grows increasingly frustrated, about to turn around and ditch him when Evan blurts out the rest of his request. “D-do you have any t-toothpaste I can borrow?”

Jared’s puzzled face takes him off guard for a second, and then an amused smirk slides on his face. “You… don’t have any toothpaste?” Jared repeats for clarification. Against his better judgment, Evan nods. “What kind of idiot forgets to pack toothpaste?”

_This was a horrible idea._

“M-me, I guess,” Evan stares at his mismatched socks, failing to meet his eye.

Jared sighs audibly, his bangs floating off his forehead for a moment, and he slips into the hall bathroom, only to return moments later with a tube of mint toothpaste. “Just keep it,” Jared says quickly. “I can buy more later.”

Before Evan can thank him, he’s storming down the stairs, leaving Evan surprised. _What a fantastic first impression_ , he thinks of both himself and his future stepbrother.

_More like evil stepbrother…_

Leo was right. He _is_ living in some fucked up Cinderella story. Except he has a feeling his fairy godmother wouldn’t be showing up anytime soon to save him from this mess.

\- - - -

In the final days of summer vacation left, Evan spends his time in the most effective way possible: hiding in his room until absolutely necessary to emerge. He slinks downstairs and has meals with his mom and Peter, who never said anything about his runaway attempt. Jared joins them occasionally, but he’s expressed a clear disinterest in “playing house” with strangers and tends to go out instead.

He also helps his mom unpack when the U-Haul finally arrives, pleased to be reunited with all his possessions, including his prized laptop and his nicer pair of headphones. By the end of the week, the tasteful modern decor has splashes of his old home: a painting from his grandmother, the broken grandfather clock, a faded persian rug, and Evan’s least favorite, a photo of his mom and Peter on their cruise in Hawaii.

While they had unpacked, Evan tuned into Peter’s spiel about attending school next week. Apparently, Redwood wasn’t just some normal high school, but an advanced private school that required having connections to simply attend. Evan hated the sound of it instantly, knowing it’d be filled with rich, entitled idiots who would live off of trust funds and drive convertibles at age sixteen. Even though he was better off now, he’d grown up in humble beginnings, and never even fathomed a life so lavish and plush.

Although pleased to find out there were no required uniforms (thank _god_ ) _,_ Peter explained the curriculum was much more difficult than Seattle’s public school system, which meant Evan would be stuck in lower-level classes as a senior. This didn’t really faze him too much-- he knew college was a long shot anyway, why worry about impressing them with advanced classes?

Besides lying in bed for hours, Evan doesn’t do any more with his summer in Elmwood than he would have in Seattle. He doesn’t have friends in either place, only the cheap entertainment of Netflix, YouTube, and audiobooks to pass the time, and he quickly finds solace within the four walls of his new bedroom.  

The only _good_ thing he does with his time is talk to Leo, who seems to keep him company throughout it all. With nothing else to do, he finds himself spending hours online with the boy, talking about anything and everything. Evan messages him when he brushes his teeth, makes grilled cheese, and in bed until the sun comes up.

The night before his first day of school, Evan’s spending yet another night texting Leo instead of packing up his bookbag or mentally preparing for school. Well, he supposes he is in his own way, talking about his irrational fears of being the new student through Leo.

 **@carter:** Have you ever been the new kid at school?

 **@leo:** not exactly. i’ve lived in elmwood my whole life, so i’ve basically grown up with the same people for the past eighteen years.

 **@leo:** though, i was held back one year, so technically i was in a new sea of students. which also meant being put in the same year as my sister. not fun.

 **@carter:** You were held back? Why?

 **@leo:** not sure… i didn’t really turn in assignments. or pass tests. or go to my classes. guess we’ll never know why...

 **@carter:** So, you’re going into senior year, then?

 **@leo:** oh yes. the joys of re-living the best year of your life at the #1 private school in california! *sarcasm*

Evan bites his lip, squinting at the brightness of his screen as he studies the words. He knew Leo and him were living in the same town now, but would they be attending the same school?

And furthermore, would Evan be able to recognize him? Speech patterns that matched his texting, a physical profile from past descriptions, the gut feeling this was the guy he’d been hopelessly crushing on for months?

The thought simultaneously excites and terrifies him.

 **@carter:** Private school? Ew. I didn’t know you go to one.

 **@leo:** yep. redwood high, filled with people who are the absolute best at anything they do, from sports to music to academics. and then there’s me, the guy holding everyone back from a perfect track record.

The words blur and spill off the phone as the gears turn in Evan’s mind, processing what Leo just typed. _Redwood High,_ Evan reads until his eyes cross. _So he would be going to the same school as me. And the same year too._

Evan wondered if they’d have a class together. He figured it unlikely, considering he’d be shoved in the standard-level classes and Leo was forced into advanced courses, but the chance was still there. His heart twists in his chest and his fingers shake as he formulates a normal-sounding reply.

 **@carter:** At least it’s somewhat familiar to you…. I’m terrified to start at a new school. And as a senior, no less.

 **@leo:** carter, we’ve been over this. the anxiety isn’t going to suddenly go away, but you can get stronger and overcome it. being the new kid sucks. it may take a while to build new friendships, but no matter what, you always have me to lean on, you know.

 **@carter:** Gahhh…

 **@leo:** ??

 **@carter:** How did I get so lucky to have someone like you in my life?

 **@leo:** i think i’m the lucky one :)

Evan tosses his phone to the side and covers his face with his hands. Forcing himself not to convulse, he flops over into his pillow and squeals into it girlishly, grateful to have something to muffle his highly embarrassing noise.

 _What an idiot,_ he thinks. _Saying stupid stuff like that and not knowing what he’s doing to me._

His phone lights up with a notification. **You have three (3) new messages on Stigma!**

 **@leo:** carter don’t die

 **@leo:** noooooooo come back

 **@leo:** i take it back!! (well not really) ugh, sometimes i really do have no filter.

It takes everything not to confess the truth about everything to him right then and there.

 **@carter:** I’m back, I’m back. Also, you’re ridiculous, but I don’t mind. Plus, I like that you always say what’s on your mind. :)

 **@leo:** believe me, there’s a lot more that i wish i could say.

 **@carter:** Like what?

 **@leo:** eh. not important. hey, are you nearby a window right now?

Evan frowns at the sudden change of topic. But it’s such a random one, he doesn’t bother questioning Leo on being so dismissive and responds quickly.

 **@carter:** Yeah, why?

 **@leo:** there’s a comet passing across the earth tonight. it’s supposed to be visible to most places in the united states in a couple of minutes.

 **@leo:** i know it’s impossible for us to watch it together, but i suppose it’s close enough if we watch it at the same time, right?

Evan pulls himself out of bed and steps towards the window for a better look. He wishes he could climb on the roof or something, but he doesn’t want to risk Peter hearing him opening his window again. He had a feeling that pulling another stunt wouldn’t get the same forgetful reaction. Instead, he grabs the desk chair and curls himself into it, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders.

**You have one (1) new message on Stigma!**

**@leo:** keep your head up. it’s only visible for a few seconds.

Evan finds himself nodding in response, which is stupid, considering Leo can't see that. Though, there's something in the way he talks, and the fact that it's so late at night, that Evan feels like they're truly together, sharing a quite, intimate conversation, one that doesn't need many words. 

 **@carter:** Okay.

Setting his phone on his lap but keeping himself online, Evan stares at the sky. For the most part, it’s an inky abyss, one of the darker nights where the moon is just a sliver peeking between the trees. Only a few stars are visible in the sky, the size of water droplets. He sees a flash of red light, spotting a plane in the distance. Evan sighs, fatigue rocking his body, but he finds a sense of solace in sitting still, watching the slow motion of nature. _Did I miss it?_ He wonders. _What exactly am I even looking for?_

And then, just when he’s about to turn away, he sees it.

Leo was right, it is only visible for a few seconds, but those few seconds are an eternity within itself. The flash of light seems to burn in every iridescent color imaginable, and for a split second, its fire lights up the night sky. Evan drinks in the sight of a starry night, reminded of how terrifyingly vast and beautiful the universe is. He couldn’t even begin to try to count how many were scattered across the sky. The stars are surreal; they illuminated the darkness, melting all his hatred, fear, and isolation away for a moment. In that moment in time, Evan didn’t have to be anyone but himself; a boy under a blanket of stars.

The comet streaks across the sky, twisting over the forest and ducking behind the neighborhood he’d stumbled upon the other night. The comet’s light fades, and so do the stars, and within a moment, the miraculous sight is gone.

He blinks, and he feels his phone vibrate. Dazed, he picks up the device and reads the new message.

 **@leo:** did you see it???? :D

Evan smiles at Leo’s emoticon. He typically wasn’t the type to use them, save for a rare occasion. Evan tries to picture him smiling in the same goofy way, but no image comes to mind. Instead, behind his eyelids, a shadow of a smile flickers in his conscience. It’s not much, but it’s enough. Leo may not be with him in person, but he was _there._

 **@carter:** It was beautiful. Honestly, beautiful isn’t a strong enough word to describe it.

 **@leo:** i know what you mean. sometimes certain emotions are just meant to be felt, not described. but that comet was so cool, right!!! and the stars!!!!!!!!

Evan laughs at how excited Leo was getting over the comet sighting. Normally, Leo is sarcastic and blunt with a teasing side. He wasn't the type to geek out or make himself vulnerable. The only exception was outer space: get him going, and he’d talk about constellations and alien life conspiracies for hours. He recalls one of his earliest conversations with Leo, when he told him the meaning behind his screen name. Leo Is his favorite constellation, as well as his zodiac sign. Evan thought it was really cool, and way more creative than his pen name. It was also the first time Leo had opened up to him about something beyond their usual discussions about anxiety and depression, and it started to shape a person behind the name.

And now, over a year later, Evan was so close to finding out the identity of that person, yet he was too afraid to take that one last step. 

 **@leo:** that was comet 41p. you can only see it once every five and a half years, when it passes through the draco constellation. even though it’s a mile wide in diameter, it hovers around the 7th magnitude, which means its only barely visible to the naked eye. however, in the fifth cycle, it flies a bit closer to earth, and, well, you saw what happens.

 **@leo:** sorry, this must be really boring to you. you know i geek out over this stuff.

Evan laughs, muffling it with the back of his hand. He feels his cheeks fill with warmth, and he shakes his head.

 **@carter:** No!! It’s okay. I think it’s cute that you’re so passionate about this.

 **@leo:** i didn’t realize the edgy-but-secretly-geeky style was the new “cute”.

Evan automatically types a response, but hesitates to send it. It’s stupid, and outwardly flirty, and Leo could react in completely the wrong way. Evan’s heart thuds in his chest, so loudly he feels like Peter or his mom could hear it and burst in his room, so he rushes to hide under his covers and takes a deep breath to calm his erratic breathing.

He doesn’t get the chance to debate it any further, because with one slip of his clumsy hands, he accidentally presses _send_ on the message.

 **@carter:** Well, if you put it that way, maybe it’s just you I find cute, then.

Once he sees the triple dots of Leo typing a reply, Evan realizes he is too scared and embarrassed to wait for the response. His phone buzzes, and he refuses to check. He isn’t sure which would be worse, one that makes fun of him for his weird comment, or one that reciprocates it with an even flirtier one. Either way, it’s nearly one in the morning and his heart can’t take any more surprises, so he sets it on the bedside table before he can change his mind.

He tries to picture Leo staring out his window like he did, nose smushed against the glass, eyes widened in childlike awe of the surreal sight. His smile, wavering like a grainy slideshow. The way his mind and heart race when an infinite world lights up before his eyes. The fact that in that split second, Evan realized Leo was so _close,_ and the only thing that separated them was the sky.

He falls asleep dreaming of the stars. Or Leo. Amidst his semi-conscious state, he wasn’t sure which is which.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn this is so fluffy and wholesome, sure would be a shame if Angst ™ were to happen. sorry if this has like 10 million grammatical errors, I'm writing this at 1 am and i'm too lazy to read over it #whoneedsediting


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trying to build up jared and evan's relationship here, i actually want jared to be a somewhat important asset to this story (even if jared is a weird californian who likes juice cleanses lol)
> 
> and oh, connor, /please/ don't set the chemistry lab on fire with your weed lighter

The thing about first days is they never get any easier, Evan just learns to detest them more. 

Especially this one in particular, where he has absolutely no idea what to expect at his new school. At least his school back in Seattle was familiar; he  _ knew  _ no one would look at him, he’d disappear among the crowd of students within a day, and he’d ride out the year hardly speaking to anyone.

Though, Evan supposes the one good thing about this particular first day of high school school was that it would be his last. The thought alone gives him enough motivation to get out of bed and dress for school.

Having forgotten the events of last night amidst his early morning drowsiness, he doesn’t think twice when he pulls up Sigma to fill out his daily mood journal.

Slightly over a year ago, right before he started his junior year, Evan’s old therapist introduced a new coping mechanism, an outlet for whatever he was feeling. She told him to write down he was feeling once each day, when he felt particularly strong about that emotion. The app he used tracked his mood by color: green was ecstatic, red was angry, and the spectrum of oranges and yellows represented everything in between.

Flipping through past months of color charts, Evan sees mainly orange-yellow, with the occasional red or green. His most common mood selected was “anxious”, which was a blood orange he’s grown used to filling his calendar. Tapping on the current day, he starts to type:

_ August 25th, 2017: Anxious _

_ Today is my first day of senior year. I suppose most people would be excited for this day, but I couldn’t care less about silly things like what I’m wearing or where I’ll eat lunch. I think the only thing that’ll get me through today is knowing Leo is somewhere in these halls-- though, that may just be making me more anxious. _

Once he saves, he spots a notification from the inbox feature.

**@leo:** i find you cute too :) goodnight.

Evan drops his phone - luckily, it falls back on his bed - and covers his mouth in surprise. The message took him off guard, and within moments the context of his conversation last night floods his conscience. The comet, the stars, the  _ words _ , all bundled up into a knot that ties in his stomach.

He notices Leo is now online, and he’s typing again. Evan worries his bottom lip with his teeth as he types a reply. Evan tries to predict what he’s going to say:  _ I was just kidding. I don’t care about you at all. No one does.  _ And he’d be right. Because Evan is nothing more than--

**@leo:** good luck today. first days are shit, but if anyone can do it, its you.

Evan’s finger shake as he types out a reply: 

**@carter:** Thanks, you too. Senior year, yay!!

**@leo:** i can detect that sarcasm from across the country. (or wherever you are now)

Sighing, Evan pockets his phone and heads downstairs, fast-walking by Jared’s room as quietly as he can. When he enters the spotless kitchen, he sees his mom and Peter already at the kitchen nook eating something out of a bowl. Evan would like to think it’s cereal, but knowing Peter’s weird eating habits, it isn’t likely.

“Evan! Good morning!” Peter greets him cheerfully. “Do you want an acai bowl? We’re having it with granola, peanut butter, and blackberries.”

_ Can’t you just have cereal in the morning like a normal person?  _ Evan thinks, holding back his scowl. 

So maybe he’s a bit grumpy this morning from his lack of sleep. 

Still, he smiles, unable to turn his offer down. “Sure.”

The acai bowl actually ends up being better than he thought. It has oatmeal in it too, which was too mushy for his taste, but the tangy taste of blackberries with the salty peanut butter made it bearable. Plus, he skipped dinner last night, so he eats the whole thing without a single word.

Jared came down a few minutes later, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl after scowling at the weirdly healthy breakfast. Evan swears he mutters something under his breath, but he chooses to ignore it.

“You two should probably start heading to school now, right, guys?” Peter looks at the clock on the microwave. “Wouldn’t want to be late on your first day.”

The last thing Evan wants is to walk, or  _ worse _ , take the bus and deal with people sooner than he needs to. “Can you take me, Mom?” He quips to Heidi instead, who has been reading a file throughout the meal. She looks up, shooting him an apologetic smile.

“Oh, honey…” She places her hand on top of his. “I have to get to work in a few minutes, and it’s in the opposite direction....”

“That’s okay!” Peter pipes up. “Jared can take you. That isn’t a problem, right, son?” He tilts his head slightly, a threatening nonverbal cue that says  _ don’t you dare say no. _

“It’s not like we aren’t going to the same place anyway,” Jared grumbles, turning away and pouring coffee into a mug. 

“Perfect!” Peter claps his hands together. Evan is really starting to get sick of how cheerful he is, especially at seven in the morning. “Such a great bonding activity for you two.”

_ Sure _ , Evan thinks sarcastically, just as he hears Jared mutter the same thing under his breath. He clears his bowl and rushes back upstairs to grab his backpack. By the time he returns to the kitchen, Jared is already out the door and honking irritably to hurry him.

Evan storms outside, tossing his bag in the backseat and plopping down in shotgun. “I was already coming, you know,” He says grumpily, forgetting to be anxious for a second.

“I know,” Jared smirks, “I just wanted to annoy you.” 

_ Wonderful. _

Evan glances around Jared’s car. It’s surprisingly less nice than he had expected, considering the amount of wealth the family home flaunts. The tan Sedan had a crumpled up school newspaper on the ground, alongside some gum wrappers and an empty water bottle. A pair of fluffy dice hangs from the rearview, and a pair of sunglasses sits on the dashboard. Jared grabs the sunglasses and puts them over his face, and Evan holds back a snort.

Once on the road, Jared sees Evan’s bemused expression out of the corner of his eye and clicks his tongue, grabbing a bottle of juice and swigging it. Upon seeing the juice, Evan visibly cringes.

“What on earth is  _ that _ ?” He asks in shock.

Instead of answering, Jared sets it back in the cup holder and gestures to it half-heartedly. “Try it,” He prompts.

Evan wonders if it’s poisonous and Jared is trying to kill him (it makes sense, he could get his old life back), but then again, Jared just took a sip himself, so it has to be safe. Probably.

Evan takes a swig, instantly regretting it. The drink is green and cloudy and - he should’ve realized sooner - revolting to his stomach. 

“Spinach, cucumber, ginger, and beet juice,” Jared explains through stifled laughs. “Sorry, dude. Probably should’ve warned you. Forgot you aren’t an advanced juicer like me.”

“Advanced juicer?” Evan repeats incredulously. “That’s not real.”

“Do these guns look real to you?” Jared flexes one arm while driving, merging into a lane.

Evan rolls his eyes. “You’re definitely a California person.” He faces forward, staring at the road until a high school comes to view on his right. He sees other students pulling onto the campus, in brightly-colored sports cars and hybrids. A sign by the front entrance flashes in LED lights:  _ Welcome back, students! _

“And  _ you  _ aren’t going to fit in if you don’t jump on the organic food and detox frenzy around here,” Jared retaliates, and Evan knows he’s joking, but it stings anyway. Whether he chooses to fit in or not is pointless-- he’s always going to be invisible in this world.

Evan takes another sip. If he’s being honest, there’s something weirdly satisfying about how gross it is but how good it is for him. He can’t decide if he likes it or hates it; funnily enough, he feels the same way about Jared. Based on the way he collects himself, from the sunglasses to the comments about Evan “tarnishing his reputation”, Evan can see he is desperate to fit in. 

Jared pulls into one of the spots in the student parking lot and shuts off the car. “You have your schedule, right?” He looks over, seeing Evan’s worried look. Sighing, he pushes up his glasses. “Oh my god,” Shaking his head, he gets out of the car. “You are helpless.” 

Evan follows him like a lost puppy through the parking lot and into the school building. Evan noticed right away how nice the high school was. The exterior was mainly classic brick, with tall windows and even taller ceilings, but the inside was remodeled with polished tile and freshly painted walls. The crowded hallways instantly make him feel claustrophobic, and when Jared notices him slowing down and shriveling in upon himself, he grabs him by the wrist and tugs him to a clearer part of the halls. Breathing a sigh of relief, they slip down an empty staircase, past the auditorium, and to the main office.

Jared must have noticed Evan’s immediate fear of speaking to the receptionist, and (thankfully) covers for him. “Hello. This is Evan Hansen. He’s new. Is there any way we can get a copy of his schedule?”

“No problem, dear,” The woman nods before answering a phone call and typing into her computer. Jared and Evan collapse into two of the waiting chairs, and Evan wonders if all waiting chairs are purposefully designed to be uncomfortable. His wandering thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a door slamming, which seems to shake the walls and rattle inside Evan's head.

“Listen, it’s not my fault some kid spilled benzene from the chemistry camp last week and didn’t clean it up. So it caught on fire. Don’t blame  _ me _ just because I have a lighter in my bag!”

Evan recognizes the vaguely familiar voice. 

Another voice retaliates in a softer, no-nonsense tone. _Probably an administrator,_ Evan decides. “Connor, we aren’t blaming you,” They say sternly. “It’s just that you shouldn’t be carrying a lighter on school property. We have to confiscate the contraband--”

“Fine, take it,” Connor snaps. “Add it to your collection.” And with that, he flies around the corner, coming into view. Evan puts the pieces together and remembers: roof boy. He sees Evan and Jared staring, and without so much as a second glance towards Evan, he scowls in Jared’s direction. 

“The fuck are  _ you _ looking at, Kleinman?” He snarls, which only seems to amuse Jared more. 

“Only the first day of school and you’re already trying to set the chemistry room on fire?” He teases. “Stepping up your game. By the end of the week, you’ll be shooting up the sc--”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Connor has already stormed over and grabbed Jared by the shirt collar, yanking him up. “Shut the _ fuck  _ up,” He hisses. His other hand is still curled into a fist, and Evan pipes up before it escalates any further.

“Wait, please don’t...” Evan trails off pathetically, and Connor looks over, finally registering his presence. 

“You?” Connor narrows his eyes as recognition sets in. “What are you--”

Jared pulls away while Connor is distracted, and it’s just enough time for Jared to grab the schedule and pull Evan out of the office before Connor throws a punch. Which, judging by the flash in his eyes and his bruised knuckles, was likelier than Evan realizes. They jog down the hall until they’re in an empty corner of the school.

“What... just happened?” Evan says between breaths. 

Jared rolls his eyes and adjusts his glasses. “That’s Connor Murphy. Not my favorite person, as you may have guessed. He’s a fucking asshole.” When Evan says nothing, he continues. “It seemed like he knew you.”

Evan nods. “I met him the other night… he lives in our neighborhood.”

“Why did you--,” Jared stops himself, holding up his hand. “Nevermind. I don’t care. Look, here’s your schedule,” He gives Evan the piece of paper. Evan scans the names.  _ Precalculus, English 4, AP Psychology... _

“It’s pretty easy to get around,” Jared explains. “100s are first floor and 200s are the second. Just look for the signs and you’ll get there on time. You’ll fit in great with all the confused freshmen,” Jared claps him on the back, and Evan winces. 

As the first bell rings, he starts to walk off, leaving Evan to his own devices. 

Everything’s starting to settle in now. None of this is a dream. 

“Welcome to Redwood,” Jared calls over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner. “Try not to get eaten alive."   
  



	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slow update, been busy with school and all that :') i got stuck in the middle of this chapter anyway (it is way too early to be having writer's block, i know)

Evan thinks he’s one step away from getting eaten alive.

 _So much for Jared’s helpful advice,_ Evan thinks bitterly as he picks up the pace, trying to find his way to his fifth period class, AP Psychology. The late bell had already rung two minutes ago, and the hallway was void of any person he could ask for help (not like he could work up the nerve to anyway) and he had already made three wrong turns, unable to find his way out back to the main hall.

His morning classes hadn’t been much better, and Evan wasn’t expecting a positive change throughout the afternoon.

Precalculus was a class filled with juniors and sophomores, and Evan instantly felt stupid as the only senior in the class. Thankfully, he didn’t have to choose a seat, and he was assigned to a seat in the cluster in the back, next to two talkative junior girls.

One of them is black, with wire-rimmed glasses that slipped down her nose and long box braids, the other a pale girl with wavy auburn hair streaked with indigo. They chattered about club week, an upcoming movie release, endless topics that made Evan’s head spin as he acted like he wasn’t listening the entire time, wishing he was invisible.

English was worse, a remedial class where no one listened to the teacher, a plump woman who seemed to care a lot about the subject but couldn’t share that love with the uninterested students.

As she was writing down the list of books they’d read throughout the year, she’d dropped her whiteboard marker and bent down to grab it. One rude student decided to make a pig-like snort, eliciting rude laughter from half the class and making Evan blush with secondhand embarrassment. She sent him to the principal and the class fell silent for the rest of the period.

By the time lunch came around, Evan thought about looking for Jared, but when he saw him laughing with a large group of friends in the cafeteria, he instantly turned around and sought out a new place to eat his lunch in peace. The library didn’t allow food, most of the hallways had people eating perfectly-packed lunches and chatting about their summer vacations, and Evan refused to eat in the bathroom like the heroines of teen movies do.

Therefore, he supposed it was an ounce of good luck that he had found a hidden stairwell to the third floor, which had a small space connected to the auditorium sound booth and a door to the roof.

Lunch was perhaps the only enjoyable point of his day so far, because he got a chance at peace and quiet. His egg salad sandwich was bland in comparison to his classmates’ kale salads and sauteed salmon, but it was enough. He sat next to the railing, glancing over the ledge to the view of the football field. He spotted a few people in hoodies headed towards the bleachers, glancing occasionally behind them, and Evan was smart enough to know what they were doing.

He hadn’t heard the warning bell ring for fifth period, and eventually, some of the tech theater kids noticed him and yelled at him for a few minutes, threatening to call an administrator if he didn’t leave.

And now, he is unable to find the room on his schedule. Jared said to follow the signs for 100s and 200s, but AP Psychology was room 543, and Evan is pretty sure there isn’t a fifth floor at this school, no matter how swanky it is. He debates skipping the class, hell, maybe just walking home (and not the new house, but _home)_ , but he’s spotted by a teacher rushing to the copy room before he can think about ditching.

“Class started a few minutes ago,” He says without giving him a second glance. Hhe’s about to turn the corner when Evan shouts “W-wait.”

The man pauses, looking back. “Are you lost?” He guesses, giving him a once-over. “Are you a freshman?”

Evan blushes. “N-no, sir,” He shakes his head. “I’m just new.”

The teacher comes to glance at the schedule Evan’s gripping so desperately, humming as he reads it. “Oh, I see why you’re lost. There’s a special hallway for some of the advanced elective classes. Come on, I’m headed that way.”

Evan trails behind him awkwardly, not sure of what to say. He stares at the teacher’s back, studying the pattern of his pinstripe button-up. He asks Evan how he’s settling in and if he likes Redwood so far, and Evan tells him all the lies he wants to hear, because why bring him down with the messy truth?

They head down a flight of stairs and around one corner, Evan forcing himself to remember the directions. He follows the teacher into a T-shaped hallway, passing by engineering and biomedical science classes until he spots a plaque reading _543._

“Thank you,” Evan breathes in relief, and the teacher pats his shoulder, wishing him good luck before heading in another direction. Evan takes a deep breath, face-to-face with the plain wooden door. From the small window slit, he can see the class already in session.

 _Everyone’s going to stare at you when you walk in_ , He thinks. _They’ll know you got lost, and think you’re an idiot, the obvious new kid… no one will want to talk to you._

The other voice in his head argues that he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, reminding him he’d get detention if he was caught skipping, and he couldn’t find his way back to Peter’s house even if he wandered for hours.

And so, Evan pushes open the door quietly and refuses to look at anyone, keeping his head ducked as he makes a beeline for the first empty spot he sees.

He takes out a pencil and his cell phone from his backpack, placing the former on his desk and the latter inside. Only one person will be able to successfully calm him down right now.

 **@carter:** Do you ever just feel like your life is one long nightmare and you just keep desperately hoping you wake up, but you never do?

The reply is almost instantaneous, which Evan finds funny, because it must mean he’s texting in class too. This doesn’t actually surprise Evan, Leo wasn’t the rule-following, goody-two-shoes type.

 **@leo:** always. things that bad at your new school?

 **@carter:** No. Yes. Not really. I’m just making a big deal of things when I shouldn’t be. Just feeling a bit of self-pity, I guess.

 **@leo:** no need to apologize.

 **@leo:** you know, they say how happy you are in high school is indirectly proportional to how accomplished you will be in your adult life.

 **@carter:** Really? Looks like I’m on my way to being CEO of the whole freaking world.

 **@leo:** nope. that’ll be me.

Evan feels slightly better, less likely to have an anxiety attack, and he finds the strength to lift his head and tune into the professor’s speech. He’s older and slightly hunched, with a thick white mustache that’s vaguely familiar. He doesn’t seem particularly interested in going over rules of the class or explaining the end-of-year exam, but when he starts to talk about the units they’d cover, he retains a sense of once-lost youthful joy.

 **@carter:** My teacher kind of looks like the Lorax.

Evan hears a stifled snort from behind him, and he turns around to find Connor Murphy sitting at the desk behind his. Amidst his panicked entrance into the class, he hadn’t noticed he’d chosen the seat directly in front of the boy. Connor notices his weird look and narrows his eyes, mouthing “ _What?”_ and Evan turns around quickly, biting his lip.

His phone buzzes with a notification, echoing loudly from the metal of the desk.

A few students give him annoyed looks, and the teacher pauses before saying “This is a good time to re-explain the cell phone policy in my class for those who arrived late…”

Evan’s face burns with embarrassment as he quickly pockets the device. He feels Connor’s eyes on the back of his head, and he stares at the professor intensely, although not hearing a word he says. He wills the clock to speed up faster, and the remaining half hour of class is an eternity until he hears the blissful sound of the schoolbell.

He tries to escape from the class unnoticed, but the professor calls out his last name and Evan freezes, glancing apologetically at him.

“I’m so sorry,” Evan mumbles frantically before he can say anything. “I swear, it won’t happen again. I’m new and didn’t know where the classroom was, and I thought my phone was on silent…”

“It’s okay, Evan,” He shakes his head. “I just wanted to say welcome to the class. Here.” He stands up and hands Evan a packet, the syllabus written on the first page. “This has helpful information about the materials required for this class. Cell phone not included,” He says with a teasing smile.

“Sorry,” Evan says again, softer this time. “How did you know my name?”

“You were the only one who was absent on my roster,” The teacher gestures to his clipboard. “Evan Carter Hansen. You’re also the only student I didn’t recognize. We’re a small community here.”

 _This is small?_ Evan thinks incredulously. His small private school had only a hundred students in his grade, and everyone knew everyone since kindergarten. _This place is a castle._

“I moved here last week,” Evan explains, feeling stupid after saying it. _The teacher didn’t even ask,_ he berates himself. “I’m not really used to California yet.”

“I’m sure you’ll find your niche soon enough,” He smiles. “I hope you enjoy my class. I’m Mr. O’Hare.” _O’Hare air. Like from the Lorax movie,_ he thinks in amusement, biting his lip to keep a neutral face. _This has to be some sick joke._ “You better get along to your next class, wouldn’t want to be late... again.”

Evan nods, mumbling a thanks as he rushes towards the exit door. Taking out his phone, he checks the missed message from Leo.

 **@leo:** but does he speak for the trees?

Grinning wildly at the joke, Evan turns the corner, prepared to head down the hall from earlier, when he sees Connor lingering by the doorway out of his peripheral vision. _Was he waiting for me?_ He wonders, the smile on his face dropping to a confused glance. He nods in acknowledgement before continuing down the hall quickly, but Connor follows him. He doesn’t even quicken his pace; he’s so much taller he doesn’t struggle one bit, whereas Evan speed-walks to his next class.

“So, Hansen,” Connor asks, “Still wanting to run away?” When Evan says nothing, Connor smirks. “A few more days at this school and you’ll wish you had.”

Evan opens his mouth to retaliate, but Connor is already heading up the stairs two at a time. Evan realizes he actually has no idea where he was walking, he was just subconsciously trying to avoid Connor. Maybe he was afraid of Connor telling his stepdad the truth. Or lighting him on fire like the chemistry lab. Or something.

The late bell for the next period rings and Evan bites back a sigh, quickening his pace.

\- - - -

It’s nearly midnight, and Evan can’t fall asleep. _Shocker_. He wishes he has homework to do to keep him busy, but the first day only required signatures on syllabi and buying the proper school supplies.

Instead, he lies in bed and listens to the unfamiliar noises outside. He’s grown used to falling asleep to the sweet ambience of driving cars and loud honking of Seattle taxis, or the constant rain pattering against his molded window. Now, he hears grasshoppers and possibly coyotes in the distant hills. Before moving here, Evan read an article somewhere that California also has frequent wildfires and droughts. _Home sweet home,_ he thinks with disdain.

He decides it’s pointless to lie in bed for hours, waiting for sleep or the next day to come, so he heads downstairs quietly to find a snack.

In the dark, the house feels even bigger than before. Evan becomes hyperaware of all the expensive decor surrounding him and he takes each step with hesitation, careful not to touch anything or make a sound. Each step seems to creak under his weight, and Evan cringes as he tiptoes towards the kitchen. It’s when he nearly trips over a bump in the rug, catching himself just in time, when he sees them.

His mom and Peter sit closely next to each other one the couch. His mom is leaning against his shoulder, and Peter’s sock-clad feet propped on the coffee table. A blanket covers their bodies as they murmur about something. Across the room, the TV whispers white noise on low volume, the blue light reflected on their sleepy faces.

They are two wrapped up in their moment that they don’t notice Evan’s presence, and he ducks behind the wall to avoid being seen. He’s instantly embarrassed for spying on their moment, but he also feels stunned. Here, sitting on the couch, they don’t look like a couple who eloped online only a few months after his dad left. They actually look like they’re in love. It’s nothing like the way they chat about California weather at the breakfast table, or the occasional shoulder bumps while cooking dinner. This is unguarded and intimate, no longer concerned about Jared or his benefit.

Now they’re pointing at what looks like an old photo album, resting on Peter’s lap. Evan feels his heart jump to his throat. Is he showing herpictures from _before_? With his not-dead wife, a past life that's happy and functional, a life not comparable to their current situation?

There’s something about the way that she looks up at him without him noticing, turns his head towards hers to whisper something, and the way he looks so easily breakable, close to tears, that its meaningful to the both of them in a way that he can't understand yet. 

Evan looks away from their shattered expressions and focuses on the photo album, trying to imagine the memories inside. He wonders if Peter has photos of Jared as a kid, gap-toothed and grinning as he goes on the big-kid swings for the first time, his dad next to him. There’s a photo like that in one of his mom’s old albums, back in her younger days before she got her practitioner's license, when she was still obsessed with photography. Evan and his dad are on the swings from their backyard, back when they lived in a suburban house outside of Seattle. They’re holding hands and laughing, the photo captured in that magical moment where Evan can still  _feel_ the freedom of flight, over ten years later.

Tears spring to his eyes, and he fights them back, rubbing them tiredly. He isn’t sure why he’s crying now, why he feels so broken and alone and surrounded by darkness. Maybe he figured his mom wouldn’t find anyone who would love her in the same way again. Maybe because he’s hurting too but there’s no one to comfort him in the same way.

Suddenly, he’s not hungry anymore. He turns around and tiptoes towards the staircase, his heart pounding against his ribcage. It takes all his might to take the stairs one step at a time, slowly and noiselessly, when all he feels like doing is running away as fast as he can.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> looks like this is becoming a dear evan hansen/be more chill mashup fic. whoops

Two weeks later, Evan thinks that things at Redwood High may be getting better. Well, at the very least, they aren’t getting worse.

He can safely navigate himself to each of his classes and the roof for lunch, having no need to explore anywhere else in the grandiose building. He’s successfully avoided the dangers of any suspicious characters around school, especially the meathead jocks that had a knack for beating him up in the bathrooms of his old school back in Seattle. (It was one of the few perks he actually didn’t mind about Redwood.)

In fact, ten school days had gone by with roughly no problems until one day after English, he was asked to speak with his teacher after class.

He’d learned more about Ms. Doherty in the couple weeks he’s had to observe her in remedial English. Although she was overweight, she seemed very comfortable in her own skin. She loved to wear patterned print pants and bright red lipstick that clashed with her wild red hair, which she bounced on her shoulders as she talked. She also had an obsession with poetry, and as she was in her late-twenties, better at keeping up with the current trends than most of the stingy, middle-aged teachers that demanded to be called _Doctor_ or couldn’t name a movie from this century. She also seemed to take a liking to Evan, which was the only thing that kept Evan from panicking as he approached her desk after the bell rang.

“You may have noticed that I didn’t give you your essay back during class today,” She starts calmly, resting her cheek on her hand.

Of course he did. While the rest of the class got back their first paper of the semester about a book of their choosing, Evan spent the entire period worrying he’d forgotten to turn it in, or if it was so bad she refused to grade it and gave him an automatic zero.

When he shakes his head meekly, she removes something from a folder on her desk and pushes it where Evan can see it clearly. On the right margin is a bright red _100,_ and an encouraging _Amazing work!_ next to a smiley face. At first, Evan thinks she must’ve mixed up the papers somehow, but he spots his name written at the top and feels pleasantly surprised.

“Your work in this class so far has been astounding, Evan,” She continues, standing up to walk closer to him, leaning on her desk. Evan feels intimidated by how tall she is, especially with her peep-toe heels. “You’re clearly bright and a very talented writer, and you seem to enjoy the lessons, even if you don’t participate.”

Evan isn’t sure how to respond. “Err… why are you telling me this?” Evan asks out of curiosity, not used to hearing himself being complimented. Or even acknowledged, really.

“Well… I just think this class won’t be very challenging for you throughout this year. I think you may be better suited at a higher level, surrounded by kids with a similar interest for literature,” She suggests, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I have an AP Literature class for seniors during seventh period, and I was wondering if you’d be interested in transferring.”

As if on instinct, Evan instantly thinks of all the things that could go wrong. “Isn’t it too late to change my schedule?” He prompts worriedly. “And won’t I be behind in the class already? I won’t be able to make up two week’s worth of work.”

“All we’ve done thus far is some pre-course prep for the end-of-year exam,” Ms. Doherty explains, which seems to put Evan more at ease. “All you'd need to do is try to read some of the books on our summer reading list. I can help you with that after school, if that makes you feel more comfortable. And as for your schedule change, that’s a piece of cake. So, what do you say?”

Evan considers it, reminded of the lunatics in his class who have no interest in contributing meaningful thoughts to their class discussions. He doesn’t want to be stuck in a class of people who don’t care. Plus, he really _does_ like writing...

And so, he finds himself nodding.

“Great!” Ms. Doherty explains, clapping her hands together excitedly. I can talk to your counselor during lunch, and we can make the switch by last bell today!”

“Great,” Evan echoes weakly.

She hands him the paper, and Evan glances at his perfect score again, unable to comprehend that it’s real. “This is going to be a great year, Evan,” she smiles warmly as she walks him to the door of her outdoor trailer. “I can’t wait to see what else you’re capable of.”

 _Don’t get your hopes up_ , Evan thinks glumly.

\- - - -

Turns out, the switch to his schedule is just as easy as Ms. Doherty explained, and he got moved into a different environmental science class with the same teacher, which meant he only had to worry about catching up in AP English.

Thankfully, he also didn’t have to worry about finding the trailer, and got to class two minutes before the late bell. Compared to his remedial class, in which most of the kids were sitting on their desks and screaming over each other, the students were all hunched over their desks, scribbling determinedly into composition books.

Evan heads straight for Ms. Doherty, who senses his nervousness instantly and offers him a comforting smile. “Every day we take the first few minutes of class to write in our journals,” She whispers to him. “You can write about anything you’d like, no one will read it. It’s just for you.”

“I don’t have a notebook to use…” Evan says, scratching the back of his head nervously.

“Just write on a piece of paper for today, and get one when you can. And you can sit in that seat over there,” She directs, pointing her pen in the direction of an empty desk.

Not wanting to call attention to himself anymore - he feels like he’s distracting everyone from writing with his conversation with the teacher - he nods carefully and rushes to his spot, not noticing the foot out in front of him.

Unable to stop himself from toppling over, Evan crashes to the ground, his phone flying out of his hands. He hears several stifled snickers across the room, and one guffaw from the perpetrator, a short, freckled jock-type who shoots him a glare.

 _So much for avoiding meatheads,_ Evan thinks, rubbing the bruise forming on his nose.

“Watch your step, tall-ass,” He mutters under his breath before going back to his journal. Evan picks up what little dignity he has left and slides into the seat, taking out a piece of paper and wishing that people would stop staring.

He stares at it for a few moments, perplexed by the intimidation that is the blank page. He tries to look at the student next to him, figuring out how to phrase or organize the journal entry, but the student spots him looking and curls her arm to block the page, shooting him a nasty look.

Evan flushes, tapping his pencil against his lip before he stops thinking and writes.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_I’m not really sure what to write here. I’m a little too worried about transferring into AP English to try to be “myself”; everyone else seems to do this so naturally. Why is everyone here so much richer, attractive...and douche-y? Maybe I should’ve stayed in remedial. Oh well, too late now. Hopefully I get better at this with more practice. Also, what kind of insult is “tall-ass”?_

Just as Evan finishes writing _Sincerely, Me_ on the line, he senses Ms. Doherty rise from her desk and head to the front of the classroom. She takes her marker and writes something on the board before facing the thirty expectant students.

" _Hamlet_ , by Shakespeare. Anyone read it?” Ms. Doherty prompts. No one raises their hand, Evan included, even though he had, once, a few years ago.

He was helping his mom clean out the attic one summer afternoon when they had stumbled upon boxes of his dad’s work from his master’s education, including books of poetry and plays he collected throughout his study. Evan flipped through the pages and studied his random markings, underlines and asterisks, faded neon-yellow highlight over phrases like “There is a pleasure in the pathless woods” and “April is the cruellest month”.

Which is ridiculous, by the way. What was so special about April? As far as Evan is aware, every month is equally cruel. December, where Christmas feels like something out of habit with his dad gone. February, with its rainy days and eating discount-candy by himself. September, a new year but not at the same time. Sharpened pencils and shiny shoes, yet going nowhere new.

His father’s boxes are now somewhere in a storage unit in Seattle, molding from the rain that seeps through cheap plaster, the papery smell now damp and musty. Even refuses to think about water disintegrating matter. That his highlighting is going to waste.

“ _Hamlet_ is probably Shakespeare's most famous and longest play. It’s almost four thousand lines, broken up in five acts that model Sophocles' Greek tragic structure. Essentially, it's the old-time version of angst.” She earns an amused laugh from the class. She’s one of the few teachers that’s relatively close in age to the students, actually making an effort to relate to them; the rare type of teacher that could approach any type of student and start up a conversation, simply because she liked to take the time to foster a relationship with each student. With that in mind, Evan likes her even more.

“So, this text is college-level. I'll admit it, it's hard to translate. Which means it’s going to be a challenge. But I think you guys can handle it, because I’m going to let you work in groups!”

Oh, _no._

Evan knows there’s only one thing worse than being the new student in school. Being the new student when there is a _partner project_ , and he’s the odd guy out and judged for eternity.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, guys,” Ms. Doherty crosses her arms in mock-annoyance. “Here’s how it’s going to work. Once you find a group, I’ll assign scenes to everyone. You’ll work on reading aloud and discussing thematic meaning together in class, then preparing a performance that you’ll present to the class next month--”

The majority of students are no longer listening to Ms. Doherty, including Evan, and thirty pairs of eyes bounce around the room in search for people to work with. Evan spots Jared in the front, and he instantly knows stepbrother-status does not equate to English partners. The guy who tripped him earlier is diagonal to the left. Turns out his name is Rich, and he’s fist-bumping a guy he calls “Jakey-D,” which would be hilarious if they weren’t dickheads. The girl to his right has already flashed finger-guns at her friend across the room.

Evan also notices that everyone already has a copy of  _Hamlet_ out; he recalls Ms. Doherty mentioning an assigned summer reading list and feels his chest tighten, wondering if it really was a mistake to transfer to AP.

Suddenly, the entire room is paired up, and Evan’s worst nightmare is coming true. He pales at the thought of raising his hand, having to face the embarrassment of admitting he can’t find a group. His fingers twitch, and he mentally prepares to face the laughter, when he feels a pencil tap him on the shoulder and he lets out a sigh of relief.

The guy behind him looks like the type of person that would be a supporting character in a play. He has messy clothes and messy hair, slightly sweaty, perhaps from gym class. Acne scatters across his chin and jawline, but it’s oddly flattering on him.

But Evan isn’t about to complain.

The boy gives him a ‘sup-dude’ nod, silently offering for them to be partners. Evan blinks, processing his piercing stare. Nodding, he gives him a small smile in a silent thank-you.

The students move their desks into clusters, friends joining friends and amicable chatter arising. An Ecuadorian boy with oversized headphones approaches them, and the two guys share a secret handshake, making Evan feel instantly left out. Ms. Doherty passes out packets with the scene printed. “Act three, scene one, boys,” She smiles at them before walking off.

“I’m Michael,” The boy with headphones introduces himself as he hands a copy of the packet to Evan. “And this weirdo is Jeremy.”

“Evan,” Evan tries to match his smile.

“Sorry about Rich, man,” Jeremy frowns. “He’s a huge dick. Not to mention really uncreative with the insults. He’s called me ‘tall-ass’ at least three times since school started.”

Evan kind of understood why, though. Jeremy was tall, in that lanky, awkward way. He contrasted Michael in every way, who was much shorter than both of them. Evan wondered how they became friends.

“Yeah, remember what he did to our backpacks last week?” Michael quips, and they share a laugh. Shaking his head, he turns to Evan. “He wrote _boyf_ and _riends_ on our backpacks, thinking it was the most fucking hilarious thing in the world. That Sharpie look like five washes to get out.”

Evan laughs weakly, pretty sure he’d die if someone made a comment about his sexuality in public. Even though he hasn’t said anything out loud yet, the thought still petrifies him.

“Okay, everyone, listen up!” Ms. Doherty calls the class’ attention, and the room falls silent. “Remember you’ll be presenting these next week, so work hard! It looks like every group is about equal in people, so--”

The door bursts open, the door slamming against the trailer wall and shaking the entire room. “Sorry, Ms. Doherty!” A girl shouts, her hair whipping behind her. “There was an emergency yearbook meeting, and I--”

“No problem, Zoe, perfect timing,” She smirks in amusement as the girl places a pink hall pass in her palm. “You actually make our groups even! Go join group six over there. Anyway, your groups will be in charge of your own costumes, props, memorizing of lines..."

The girl named Zoe spots their group and grabs a desk, yanking it next to Evan’s. “Hi, guys,” She whispers loudly, flashing a smile before whirling around and focusing on the teacher. Evan finds himself tuning out the teacher and staring at the girl’s profile as she ties her hair up in a messy updo. He observes a light brush of freckles and smudged eyeliner, recognizing her from the indigo streaks in her hair. _The girl from math class,_ he realizes.

He finds it odd that she’s in a senior English class. Evan swears she is a junior, considering she knows their entire precalc class. _She just must be really smart,_ Evan thinks with a blush.

When the teacher stops talking, Michael fills her in on the assignment and Zoe flips through the packet. “Ooh, this looks fun.” She notices Jeremy’s eye roll, and sticks her tongue out of him. “So I like Shakespeare. Sue me.”

“Maybe you can just do the entire assignment for us and get the entire group an A,” Jeremy jokes, earning a chuckle from Michael.

“Nice try, Heere,” Zoe smirks, “But we’re going to do this together. Which is why we’re going to meet at my house after school today to work on this.”

“Nice try, Murphy,” Jeremy mocks. “But it's a Friday night, which means Michael and I have a video game marathon planned. Tomorrow?”

 _Murphy?_ Evan thinks, no longer listening to the conversation.

Zoe looks to Evan for confirmation, who nods weakly, incapable of making a cogent sentence. “Great. It’s settled then,” She starts to pack the packet away into a hot-pink folder labeled _AP Lit_ with a star doodle next to it.

When the bell rings, the students pack up their laptops (Evan feels awkward for being the only one without a sleek new Mac) and reorganize the desks. Evan slings his backpack over his shoulder, ready to leave the trailer without another word, but he freezes when Zoe approaches him.

“See you tomorrow, Evan,” She smiles, her fingers grazing his shirt - a gesture so light in touch yet feels like fire to him - and waving before she bounds out the door, ponytail flying behind her.

Evan is stuck statue-still, students crowding and pushing past him, grumbling for him to move. He feels a clap on his back, and snaps back to reality, spotting Jeremy by his side.

“Good _luck_ , dude,” He says, a knowing lilt in his voice, shooting him a grin before tossing an arm around Michael, leaving Evan blushing madly, snapping out of his unrealistic fantasy and rushing out of the classroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as of feb 24th, 2018, this has been updated! i changed the "group english project" to be a performance of a scene in hamlet, rather than a poem analysis.


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jared is a frat boy wannabe, alana is precious, little kids are assholes, and evan is incredibly bisexual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written at 3:30 am i'm so sorry what is this m e s s
> 
> also apparently my therapist says i have a ptsd form of anxiety/paranoia? yay? 
> 
> anyway enjoy!!

Evan is glad he has the Friday night free for two reasons:

One, he finally gets a break from five hellish days of private school. Which, after last period, wasn’t maybe so hellish anymore. Maybe. Day 10 seems to be better than the first nine.

Two, he had the perfect chance to explore the downtown area. The weather is nice; breezy but warm, with a crimson sun that wouldn’t sunburn him even though he’s ghostly pale.

The silence of the enormous house has tricked Evan once again; he thought he was alone for once, enjoying the silence as he read through _Rime of the Ancient Mariner,_ when Jared saunters into the kitchen. He’s dressed in a loud-print button up that do not match his boat shoes and black socks, with a snapback like a cherry on the douchebag top.

“Look at you, studying on a Friday night,” Jared says in a mockingly sweet voice, ruffling his hair as he heads towards the fridge. He rummages around, eventually taking out an avocado and slicing it in half. “Studying up to impress Zoe?”

Evan ducks his head, unwilling to admit his teasing is actually the truth. He hasn’t been able to stop thinking of the girl all afternoon, from her array of friendship bracelets or her habit of doodling on the margins of her paper. He grumbles something unconvincing and Jared lands on the adjacent stool, digging into the avocado with a spoon. Evan cringes, frowning at his open bag of popcorn guiltily.

“Hey, props to you, using your nerd powers to impress a girl. That is, if it works out,” Jared bumps shoulders with Evan, and he winces, forcing a smile.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” Evan asks, regretting it instantly when Jared’s mouth curls into a proud smirk.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He gestures to his outfit. Evan notices he has a pair of sunglasses hanging off the collar of his shirt. “I’m going to a party tonight.”

 _So that’s why he’s dressed like a frat boy,_ Evan thinks, not sure if he should be amused or afraid of the mismatched look.

“O-oh…” Evan nods along, glancing at his paper, unsure of what else to say.

He senses Jared’s expression, and there’s that dreaded expression on his face: _pity._ Evan bites back a sigh and waits for the inevitable.

“You know… you can come along, if you’d like,” Jared offers quietly, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Jake’s house is pretty swank. His dad and girlfriend are always off vacationing in some exotic place.”

Evan shakes his head. “I’ll pass,” he gestures to his work with his pencil. Actually, he has plans to go downtown later. He figures now was as good of a time as any to explore the town he'd be stuck in for a while.

“Well, you have fun being a nerd. I’m gonna go catch up with Jake’s brother and buy a dozen cases of beer,” Jared says, and after studying his goofy smile, Evan isn’t sure if he’s joking or not.

He puts his fist out in a fist-bump, and Evan stares at it in confusion before he pulls away, shaking his head and jumping off the stool. “Your loss, Hansen. Don’t smoke all my weed while I’m gone.”

Evan watches him head out the door, and for the slightest of moments, wonders if there’s a possibility Jared could be Leo.

\- - - -

California weather may be the one thing Evan is willing to get used to.

The feeling of warm sunshine on his face is enough to bring a smile to his lips as he leaves the neighborhood and follows his phone’s GPS to downtown. Luckily, the downtown area was only a short fifteen walk away, and before he knows it, he’s surrounded by joggers, shoppers, women pushing baby strollers, tanned surfer guys with hawaiian swim shorts, businessmen, and any other type of person he could think of.

His main goal is to find a job, preferably one with little social interaction and keeps him busy, but one he could maintain over the school year. He first tried a coffee shop, but the manager expressed they only hired employees with Starbucks work experience, which made no sense, but he gave up and kept looking. After passing by a crowded pizza place, a worn-down movie theater, and an ice cream chain, Evan finally settles on what may be a gift sent from heaven: a science museum.

It’s odd, seeing a science museum placed in such a busy location, but the museum seems to be more of a tourist-trap scene, geared towards little kids and parents wanting a day of educational learning. Still, if he got lucky, he’d get stuck in the back, organizing the coat closet or cleaning artifacts or something, away from customers.

The entrance to the science museum is dark and vast, decorated like a jungle with dark green paint and potted plants and other greenery everywhere. Talking to people at service help desks was one of the several actions that triggered his anxiety; he was hardly capable of talking on the phone, let alone face them in person. He was too petrified of saying the wrong thing or wasting the person's time. Evan is about to turn around and give up when he spots familiar face at the front desk; the other girl from his math table, wearing a pastel green polo.

“Hi, Alana,” Evan waves shyly to get her attention.

She looks up from her phone and recognizes him immediately. “Hey there!” She pauses, clearly forgetting his name.

“Evan,” He prompts for her, and she smiles apologetically.

“Evan.” She repeats with a nod of understanding. “Ticket for one? Students get a discount. Only $8.95.”

“Actually, I was wondering if this place was hiring…?” Evan asks faintly, picking at his fingernails unconsciously.

“Absolutely! The museum is always looking for volunteers or part-timers!” Alana pulls open a drawer and brandishes a set of forms, setting a pen on top. “I actually volunteer here myself, I’m trying to get over a two hundred hours so I can qualify for president of the National Honor Society. But you don’t care about that!” She laughs nervously. “Just fill out this and attach a resume if you’ve got one to the back, and the manager will call you letting you know about shift availability.”

“Awesome,” Evan smiles down at the paper, too nervous to direct it towards the girl. He takes the pen and starts to scrawl out his contact information. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem! It would be a pleasure to work with you. This place is pretty great actually, I heard it pays well and there aren’t usually any--” Her spiel is cut off by a look of fear, and she stands up in her swivel chair abruptly. “Oh no. _Ohhh_ , no.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Evan’s heart instantly races at twice the speed.

“Someone just tripped the silent alarm, which means something’s about to be stolen,” Alana explains hastily, scrambling for something on her desk. She grabs a walkie-talkie, whispering into the receiver. “Silent alarm activated, guys. Can someone check the security cameras?”

Within a moment, Evan hears the crackle of radio static and a gruff voice through the tinny speaker. “Looks like two kids, one with a baseball hat, the other with a backpack. Currently on the second floor.”

Alana clips the walkie-talkie to her belt loop and motions for Evan to follow. _Me?_ Evan points to himself, even though there is clearly no one else she could be talking to.

“Yes, you. You’re more intimidating than me. Taller and all that. Come on, I don’t want to get fired for this,” She whisper-shouts, grabbing his arm and tugging him towards a flight of stairs.

Evan flies by various science exhibits, from the nature exploration center to deep sea wildlife, wishing he could observe them in a situation not as tense as this. They’ve cyled through the entire second floor with no sign of either thief, and they’re just exiting the evolution of birds exhibit with Alana when she stops suddenly, allowing the two to catch their breath.

“Where is he now?” She wheezes into the speaker.

“They’re not visible on any of the cameras,” Comes the response. Alana groans in frustration and places her shoulders on Evan’s, which is funny, considering she’s nearly a foot shorter and has to reach up high to do so.

“We have to split up,” She commands, and Evan bites his lip nervously. He’s hardly comfortable running through this museum with Alana by his side, but now she expects him to venture off alone? And what happens if he _finds_ the kids? Does he shout at them? Tackle them? Watch them run off with the stolen artifact and have everyone say it’s all his fault?

“..van. Evan!” Alana shakes him back to reality. “You take the third floor, okay? I’m going back downstairs. Take this, call security if you find them,” She places the walkie-talkie in his hands and rushes down the hall without giving him a chance to say another word.

Evan jogs back towards the steps and heads up to the third floor, which is darker and less populated than the other exhibits. Evan heads down the narrow hallway, following the neon arrows and about to enter the exhibit when he feels himself being violently yanked to the side.

Evan nearly screams, but the noise is muffled by a hand clamping on his mouth. Evan glances wide-eyed at his perpetrator, who is none other than Connor Murphy.

At first, Evan doesn’t recognize him. For starters, he’s wearing the same work-issued pastel green polo, which is a stark difference from his usual all-black attire. His hair is also tied up in a bun, so his hair isn’t covering half of his face, and Evan becomes very aware of his brown eyes; piercing, violating, not just looking _at_ him, but  _through_ him. Evan wants to scream again, back pressed up between the wall and a column; way closer to the boy then what he’s used to. Connor raises his other hand, pointer finger to his lips silently, and Evan nods, gasping for breath when Connor lets go.

Evan’s about to whisper something when Connor points behind him. Evan peeks through the potted plant they’re hiding behind and sees two boys half-hidden by the shadows, whispering angrily to each other.

“Dude, it’s your fault you dared me to take this,” One kid says grumpily, waving something around. Upon closer inspection, Evan thinks it’s a bone of some sort.

“It’s _your_ fault for actually listening to me! Mom’s gonna kill us if she finds out,” The other one retorts angrily, trying to snatch away the bone.

“Hey! Give it back!”

“We have to put it away before we get caught,” The second boy insists.

“No, we have to get _out_ of here before we get caught,” The first one scrambles to take the bone back. They continue bickering loudly, oblivious to the two teenagers not-so-subtly watching them from behind the plant.

His back still pressed against the column, Evan looks up at the taller boy for advice. “What do we do?” He whispers as softly as he can, trying to ignore the way his face is burning and how he can practically feel Connor's breathing, his chest rising and falling.

“They’re going to bolt once they see me,” Connor whispers back thoughtfully, giving Evan a casual once over. Evan blushes under his gaze. “...But _you_ aren’t wearing a uniform. Maybe you can trick them.”

“Me?” Evan echoes nervously.

Connor smirks, and Evan hates the fact that he steps even closer. “Yes, you,” He nods, giving Evan a slight push. “Now get out there and save my job.”

Evan stumbles but catches himself before he falls on the scratchy carpet. He thinks of something, anything to get their attention and distract them for even a few moments, and does the first thing he can think of.

“Ow!” He shouts dramatically as he jams his finger into one of the interactive exhibit buttons, small enough to squish his finger inside. His outburst instantly catches the attention of the boys, who look at him fearfully until they realize his situation.

“Did you… get your finger stuck?” The one with the baseball cap snorts incredulously. For a moment, he looks slightly concerned, but his worried look shifts into one of cruel amusement. He tosses the bone into his brother’s open backpack and rushes closer to see it better. “Oh my god, you _did_!”

The boy with a backpack takes out his phone and snaps a picture, both boys laughing maniacally.

“You could stop laughing and help me get unstuck,” Evan grumbles in annoyance, having forgotten his dislike for obnoxious kids. They make no move to help him out, only giggle and point and snap pictures, when Evan spots Connor approach them behind and grab their arms.

“Gotcha!” He shouts, and they scream girlishly.

“He’s gonna arrest us!” One shouts.

“Let’s get out of here!” The other one yells, and they wiggle out of his grasp before making a beeline for the exit, thundering down the stairs. Connor curses under his breath, mumbling “they’ve headed downstairs” into his walkie-talkie, which echoes on Evan’s borrowed one from Alana. He turns to Evan, glancing at his finger. “Did you really jam your finger into a button to create a diversion?”

Evan yanks free easily, the tip of his finger slightly purple and pinched. “I guess so,” He responds lamely.

Connor laughs, in the broken sort of way that sounds like he hadn’t laughed in a while, but it still makes Evan’s heart skip a beat. “You’re insane, Hansen.”

“T-thank you?”

“Sucks we didn’t catch those little assholes, though,” Connor says as they start to head out of the exhibit. “We don’t usually get thieves around here, especially little kids. Most of the security here has been around for thirty years, hardly untrained and too full on coffee and donuts to get off their asses and catch anyone.”

Evan walks silently by his side, nodding to his story. He wonders under what random order of events put him in this very spot.

They head to the first floor, where Evan instantly spots Alana and a two men, one of which talking sternly to a pair of familiar boys.

“...Your mother will be very disappointed,” Evan catches one man saying, presumably the father. Evan sees the boys’ faces pale instantly. “Come on, time to go home.” He guides them out the door, offering one last apology to the other man before dragging the children out of the museum.

“Sir, we searched the kid’s backpack but couldn’t find the missing bone,” Alana says worriedly to the stranger, a well-built man with salt-and-pepper hair, a matching scruffy beard, and the same cheerful mint-colored polo.

“Actually…” Evan pipes in, taking the bone out of his jeans pocket and reveals the stolen artifact. Alana’s eyes light up in surprise, Connor’s jaw drops, and the man tilts his head in intrigue.

“Evan! Nice job!” Alana cheers as Evan places the bone in the man’s hand.

“Sorry about all the chaos,” He says softly.

“Not your fault, son,” The man waves him off, studying the bone happily. "Thank you for returning this to us. It's a very important part of our dinosaur exhibit."

So he was holding a dinosaur bone? _Thank God I didn't break it, or I could never show my face here again,_ Evan resists the urge to wipe the beading sweat on his forehead.

“Evan, this is my boss, Mr. Bennett. Sir, this is the guy I was telling you about,” Alana gestures to Evan, beaming proudly at who Evan assumes to be the manager. “The one who came in looking to apply for the job before all the chaos happened.”

“Well, as far as I’m concerned, you’re hired,” Mr. Bennett grins, stroking his beard and nodding in approval.

“Really?” Evan cries. “I mean, I haven’t even given you a resume.” _Not like I have one anyway,_ he thinks. _Unless he counts occasionally babysitting my neighbor’s two-year old._

“Hey, you showed some real bravery in jumping into a potentially dangerous situation. I like to see that kind of spirit. Plus, we’re short-handed. All the part-timers have headed off to college by now.”

Evan shrugs, staring at his shoes. “Thanks…” He tries to hold back his shy smile and fails. _Bravery_ and _spirit_ are words not typically associated with his character, so it's a pleasant change of pace.

“Want to start next week?” The boss offers, and Evan looks up, making sure he’s serious. (He is.)

“Y-yeah!” He grins, grabbing the man’s outstretched hand and shaking it happily.

“Awesome. I’ll have Connor call you and fit you into our calendar. I’m excited to work with you, Evan. Welcome to the team,” Mr. Bennett smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “See you soon.”

“See you at school on Monday, Evan!” Alana waves before plopping back into her swivel chair, focusing back on secretarial work. Evan gives her a soft goodbye (which he's sure she didn't even hear) before glancing at Connor, who has been studying him the entire time. He wordlessly agrees to walk Evan out, shoving his fists in his jacket pockets.

“Who knew you were such a magician,” Connor jokes, referring to the magical act of stealing the bone from under the boys’ noses.

“Saw the opportunity as it presented itself,” Evan shrugs one shoulder half-heartedly. “His backpack was open, and he was distracted.” He feels Connor staring at him now, and he looks away nervously. “I-It’s nothing, really.”  _I merely acted under panic. I'm used to it._

Connor looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t. He holds the front door open, lingering in the doorway as Evan takes a step back.

“Well…” Evan mumbles.

“Yeah.”

“See you in school, I guess.”

“Right.”

Neither of them move.

“Okay. Leaving now,” Evan backs up, nearly hitting a column and tripping over himself. His cheeks color in embarrassment and he turns away quickly, casting one last glance at Connor over his shoulder.

He’s got a mystified look on his face, like Evan’s a locked box in a puzzle trapped inside a maze, and the key is in another dimension. Connor raises an eyebrow challengingly, and the image of Connor pressed up against him flashes in Evan’s mind.

Flushing even darker, it takes every ounce of his willpower not to look back as he speedwalks down the sidewalk.

Yeah. Day 10. Definitely better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok question of the day: who is your favorite character in deh??


	8. eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! quick note, i'm changing the group english project (ev, zoe, michael, and jer) to be learning a scene from hamlet and performing it to the class. (the scene i chose happens to be my favorite, the most famous, and the one i'm doing for ap lit next week lol). 
> 
> i've made the edits to the previous chapters already, i just wanted to let you know of this change so you aren't like wtf lmao. (i love hamlet and some of its themes actually do apply to evan's life so i was like why not)
> 
> also, thank you for 1100+ hits!! really happy that people are actually enjoying this (somehow)?

****Evan jolts awake upon hearing his phone ring.

It’s odd, really; hearing his phone ring. He hardly ever gets phone calls, usually only from his mother or occasionally Peter. At first, he thinks he forgot to turn his alarm clock, or perhaps he forgot he had school.

He squints as he dazedly looks around, unable to see due to the stream of sunlight from his windows. He realizes he’s sweating, and instantly regrets leaving his window open overnight.

He pats around his blankets and ducks under his bed, eventually finding his phone, which must’ve slipped off the nightstand. He answers it without checking the caller ID, assuming it to be his mom.

“Hello? He answers groggily, his voice thick with sleep, flopping back on his pillow.

There’s a pause. “Hey, Hansen,” A familiar voice says in a mock-cheerful tone. “How are you on this lovely Saturday afternoon?”

_Afternoon?_

“Connor?” Evan instantly shoots up, straightening his back and running a hand through his bedhead. He glances at the bedside clock: _12:38 pm_. “Wha- how- how did you--”

“Get your number? Alana gave it to me from your contact sheet, dumbass,” Connor explains, sounding bored. Evan bites his lip worriedly. “Look, I’m not calling to make small talk, I’m calling because the boss wants to know when you can start training.”

Oh. _Oh._ Of course. _Why would he be calling for any other reason?_ Evan thinks to himself, feeling so stupid that he has to mentally restrain himself from slapping his forehead.

“Hansen? Did you fall back asleep or something?” Connor prompts impatiently.

“Right! Um, well, I can start, you know, whenever!” Evan feels the words bubbling out of him, stumbling over what should be a simple sentence.

Evan hates bows his anxiety manifests in different ways. Sometimes he’s unable to speak a single word, other times he rambles on for what feels like hours, unable to stop, mentally kicking himself the entire time. “Not like I’m really doing anything else, err… yikes, that makes me sound like a loser. What I’m trying to say is--”

“How about Monday after school?” Connor interrupts.

Evan cringes, albeit relieved that Connor cut him off before he could say anything else. “Yeah,” He exhales. “That works.”

“Need a ride?”

Evan wonders if Jared would be willing to drive him to the science museum after school. He knows Jared doesn’t do any after-school sports or clubs, but he has a feeling it’ll be a no anyway. He wouldn’t want to burden him with a drop-off that’s fifteen minutes away. Jared would probably laugh in his face.

But he doesn’t want to ask Connor for one either. Never mind the fact they’re going to the same school, he just doesn’t want Connor to think he’s dependent on him, or that he’s incapable of getting himself places otherwise.

“I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” It sounds like Connor is popping bubble-gum on the other side of the line. “Four-thirty. Don’t be late. Also, speaking of being late, you’re supposed to be here in fifteen. So maybe stop sleeping and get out of bed.”

Evan feels his throat close up. “What are you talking about?”

“My sister mentioned something about you coming over for an English project at one. She told me to remind you,” Connor says monotonously. “She hates when people are late, so I’d hurry.”

Evan immediately scrambles out of bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. “She never told me what time,” Evan gasps out, reaching for his deodorant, knowing there’s no time to shower. He runs his free hand through his hair, which only makes it look more messy, sighs, and gives up.

“Good thing you live nearby, then.”

Connor then hangs up the phone, and Evan breathes a sigh of relief. His peace of mind only lasts for a moment longer, however, because he remembers he has approximately thirteen minutes to change out of his pajamas, eat a snack, and rush through the woods to Zoe’s house.

Which is also Connor’s house.

Great.

Even though he’s late, he finds himself trying on different shirts, unsatisfied with each. The first one is too big, the second has a ketchup stain, and the third one was from his dirty laundry, but it was still bearable, and his best option under short notice. He tugs on the old graphic t-shirt and sticks to a pair of boring jeans, grabbing his cell phone before going downstairs.

His mother is sitting at the kitchen nook, typing on what looks like a sleek new laptop.

“Honey? Are you going somewhere? I made a salad,” She looks up, pointing towards the kitchen island.

Evan grabs a piece of fruit from the bowl and takes a bite. “I’m late,” He says through a mouthful of apple.

“Will you be back in time for dinner? Peter wants to-“

“Sure, Mom,” Even says, only half-listening, focused on getting out the door as fast as possible. He leaves through the back door, it slamming behind him as he rushes off.

**\- - - -**

The only reason why Evan is two minutes late is because he spends three staring at the doorbell.

 _Is this the right house?_ Evan wonders anxiously. He’s only seen Connor’s house once, and in the middle of the night, no less. How humiliating would it be if he rang the wrong doorbell? And if this wasn’t it, how could he find the right one?

He could call Connor, but he didn’t want to interrupt him unless it was an emergency. And a school project was hardly worth bothering him for.

In fact, he probably would’ve stood there for a few more minutes, debating if it was more proper to knock or ring the bell, but the door swings open before he can raise his fist to the door.

“...Hi,” He mumbles upon seeing Zoe in the entryway.

“You’re late,” Zoe says, narrowing her eyes upon seeing him on the front porch. “What are you just standing there for?” Evan feels his cheeks fill with warmth as she offers him a teasing smile, opening the door wider. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” What is with him and monosyllabic answers? He feels like he’s stepped out of his own mind and he’s flying on autopilot as he follows her through the foyer, taking in the decor of the home.

It’s similar in taste to Peter’s house; suburban, upper-middle-class Californians must all shop at the same interior decoration place. Pottery Barn, maybe. Not a single thing is out of place, from the pristine white loveseat to the rustic bookshelves, he feels like he’s walking through a showroom. The only imperfection is a fist-sized dent nearby the wall, purposely hidden by a hanging plant.

Zoe already has her poem, her laptop, and a book spread out on the dining room table. Evan takes a seat by the window, reaching for his things when he realizes he forgot his backpack.

“I…” He stutters, completely embarrassed. “I think I forgot my packet?”

 _Well, at least it’s more than one word,_ he thinks bitterly.

Zoe’s smile is half-apologetic, half-amused. “No worries, Evan. Just share with me. I’m just reading through the poem again.”

Evan quickly realizes this means he must scoot his chair closer to Zoe, close enough for their shoulders to touch. Evan tries to ignore the way she pushes her hair to said shoulder, and how it smells like mangoes. In fact, only some of his time is spent scanning the lines (which makes no sense, anyway); the majority is spent sneaking glances at her, observing her mannerisms. The way she chews her eraser as she thinks, or drumming her fingernails on the table, or the tiny smile she gets when she spots an interesting line.

 _To be or not to be,_ Evan reads the lines within Hamlet’s most famous soliloquy. _For in that sleep of of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause._

“Let’s see, it’s probably a good idea to think about who will be cast as who. Jeremy and Michael aren’t here yet, but knowing them, they’ll want to dress up in crowns and act like idiots, so we can put them down for Polonius and Claudius,” Zoe suggests. “What do you think about being Hamlet?”

“Me?” Evan points to himself. _Yes, you,_ He berates himself. _Who else could she be talking to?_

“Yeah. I mean, unless you don’t want to. It’s a lot of lines to memorize, and we only have a few weeks to prepare the scene...” Zoe trails off. “Between you and me, I think you’d make a better Hamlet than Jeremy or Michael.”

Evan can’t help the smile that blooms on his face, and his skin turns to roses. Still, he thinks she’s just saying that out of politeness. “I- I don’t know... I’m not the greatest actor. I didn’t do any of the reading that was required, I only transferred yesterday, so I’ve hardly even read the play--”

“Don’t worry about it, Evan. Sparknotes it. Or just read my copy,” She takes out a paperback of _No Fear Shakespeare: Hamlet_ and Evan flips through it, catching glimpses of annotations in the margin, done in a silver glitter pen.

“Thanks,” He smiles shyly, nose in the book.

“So I suppose that leaves me with Ophelia,” Zoe laughs dryly. “Great. The character with zero backstory, who only exists as a subordinate to her lover and her father, and is eventually suffocated by the expectations of the patriarchy. Ugh,” She turns back to her work. “Shakespeare was such a misogynist.”

“Actually, I think his representation of Ophelia has underlying themes of feminism,” Evan says quietly, picking at his nails. When Zoe looks up at him in confusion, he avoids her gaze.

“That’s impossible,” She argues. “Ophelia is merely a mirror, torn between the expectations of Hamlet and Polonius. She has no identity of her own, it’s only molded based on the men around her.”

“But isn’t that the commentary Shakespeare is trying to make?” Evan suggests lightly. “In her madness, she has a release; a sense of control. Maybe Shakespeare is trying to say that in such a patriarchal society, women are either complacent or mad, and that needs to change.”

By the time Evan looks up, Zoe is staring at his profile in awe. His mind goes blank and he realize how much he’s spoken within the span of a moment.

“That… actually makes a lot of sense,” Zoe says softly. “I never thought of it that way.” She looks at the scene, and then back at him. After a moment, she nods. “Yeah. You’ll be a great Hamlet. And I am totally using that for my Ophelia interpretation when we perform.”

Evan smiles, unable to meet her gaze when her eyes are shining so brightly like that. “Cool,” He says. _A single syllable. Again._

“You know what’s weird about this scene, is it’s up to the playmaker to decide who Ophelia is truly loyal to,” Zoe babbles, in her own world of poetry and old English. “So many people think she was dedicated to her father out of fear, but maybe Shakespeare thought she would stick with Hamlet. Since all the ideas were up in his head, he never left notes. He just wrote all day long and, probably cut and paste with scissors and glue.”

“I can’t imagine writing without a computer,” Evan confesses aloud. “It just feels too… slow. My mind always moves faster than my hands.”

“Tell me about it,” Zoe flicks her hair over to the other side. “So, tell me something else I don’t know about you, new kid.” She cocks her head to the side, waves spilling over her shoulder. She’s looking at him again, which is the equivalent of putting Evan under an interrogation light in front of an array of torture weapons. Evan’s lucky she’s wearing glasses today, it takes off some of the ease of her eyes. Evan thinks this may be why Zoe is so popular, why half of their math class flirts with her at any given moment (and gives him disgusted side looks).

“I don’t know,” Evan spits out eventually with a nonchalant shrug. “Not much to say.”

“I find that difficult to believe.”

“Well, I have plenty to say, but probably nothing you’d want to hear.” _To die, to sleep-- and by sleep we end the heartache.To die, to sleep-- perchance, to dream,_ He thinks.

_Sometimes I wish I could sleep until I don’t feel so tired anymore. I wish I could go back to when I got excited for Christmas and birthdays. I like your indigo streaks and your scary eyes and I want to know why you have dark circles underneath them. When I close my eyes, I see blurred-out futures, impossible goodbyes._

_But I don't dream anymore. Do you? I wish I did._

“What about you?” He prompts instead, pushing his thoughts aside.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a big space nerd,” She grins. “I’m obsessed with all the old space movies. Dark Star, Star Trek, Aliens. Nice shirt, by the way.”

Evan picks at the hem of his shirt, staring at the faded _Star Wars_ logo across the chest. “You like space? For real?”

A voice, small but persistent, whispers in the back of his mind. _What if she is Leo?_ It demands of him. He tries to ignore it, smiling along. He tries to recall a moment in which Leo specified they were a boy. Had Evan just assumed that? Was everything just a fabricated reality in his head?

“Yeah,” Her cheeks flush, and she looks embarrassed to be admitting it. “I’ve probably watched the _Star Wars_ movies over fifty times.”

“Seriously?” Evan looks at her incredulously.

“Don’t look at me like that,” She laughs, her face falling in her cupped hands. She may feel embarrassed, but Evan is the one resembling a garden tomato. “It’s silly, I know.”

“No. No! It’s really cool,” Evan reaches out to touch her shoulder, interrupted by the doorbell. Zoe stands up quickly, rushing off to get the door. Evan wonders why she left so suddenly; did he say something wrong? Did he embarrass her? Oh, he’s such an idiot, why did he even open his mouth--

“Ev, my dude!” Jeremy shouts, going in for a high-five, as if they’re close friends. Evan stares at it in confusion, only realizing he should lift his hand when Jeremy puts it back down dejectedly.

“Sorry we were late,” Michael apologizes to them. Evan notices Zoe glaring at the side of his head. “Late-night video game marathon.”

“Totally forgot to set an alarm,” Jeremy adds. Evan notices Michael has his jacket zipped all the way up, and Jeremy’s shirt is on backwards. Biting his tongue, he chooses to stare at the table instead.

“Yeah, well, we’ve decided on the cast. Evan will be Hamlet, and I’m Ophelia. Which means you can be Polonius or Claudius.”

“Dibs on Claudius,” Michael raises a hand, slipping into one of the seats. “I'll even get a crown from Burger King.”

Jeremy pouts, Evan suppresses a laugh, and Zoe rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, Your Highness," She grumbles, though, she's smiling. "Let’s just get to work on learning these lines.”

\- - - -

Later that night, Evan sits cross-legged on his bed, typing out a journal entry.

_September 9th, 2017: Hopeful_

_Today was a good day. The first one in a while, I think. It sort of feels like all my hope is pinned on Leo. Knowing he (or she?) is out there keeps me going, like if I keep working towards meeting new people, I’ll eventually find them. Until I feel more normal._

Evan stares at his journal entry for a few moments, wondering if he should make it public, so the community can see. Deciding against it at the last moment, he saves his log and checks his instant messages. Weirdly enough, he gets a message from Leo right as he gets online.

 **@leo:** you’ve been quiet lately. okay. HOW WAS YOUR SATURDAY. GO.

Evan can’t suppress the smile when he sees Leo’s message. Even though he’s been busy the last couple weeks with school and family stuff, he loves to fall back into routine to talking to Leo.

 **@carter** : Huh. So you do have a shift key. My day wasn’t horrible. How about you?

 **@leo:** not great. stuck at work all day.

Evan pauses, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He types out a message, hesitates on sending it, and pressing it before he can delete it.

 **@carter:** Tell me three things about you, Leo. Something I don’t know. Something besides your real name and, well, everything else.

Evan thinks his afternoon with Zoe (until Jeremy and Michael showed up) has left him a little more reckless. If he’s going to test this theory of his, he’ll seek out any clues that may point to the real identity of Leo. Even if it’s little things, like having dyed hair or using mango shampoo.

After he went home, Zoe walked him through the backyard. She stood there, one hand on the gate, other wrapped around her middle, holding eye contact in that painful way she does. “See you later,” She said. Three words, all in a row. It wasn’t a goodbye. Goodbyes were for people you wouldn’t see again. He’d see her in math class on Monday morning, and he knew he _definitely_ wouldn’t be able to focus.

 **@leo:** oh, a game. okay, i’ll play. one: after graduation, i want to go to new york city.

 **@carter:** You’ve never been?

 **@leo:** nope. too far, too expensive. but imagine, carter. you’re one in three million people, slipping into the beautiful chaos, basically invisible but still a part of something.

 **@leo:** two: i went through that 2009-myspace-esque emo phase back in eighth grade. i dyed my hair black, wore kohl eyeliner, and listened to punk music on full blast.

 **@carter:** Yikes.

Evan remembers Zoe dyes her hair too. Completely black and purple streaks aren't the same thing, but old habits never truly fade, right?

 **@leo:** yeah. not my best year.

 **@carter:** Sometimes I still feel like I’m in my emo phase. How about three?

 **@leo:** nope. your turn.

 **@carter:** Come on, you have to.

 **@leo:** you first.

 **@carter** : Fine. *sighs loudly* One: I used to be a huge Pokemon nerd. I have all 151 on my old Gameboy Color, and I used to collect the cards until I sold them all on candy.

 **@leo:** did you ever play pokemon go?

 **@carter:** It was literally the only reason why I left the house the summer it released.

 **@leo:** saaaamme. two?

 **@carter:** Two: I kind of wish I was a book character. Though, I don’t see myself as the main-character type, I’m not that exciting. But at least I’d live a better life, perfectly constructed and wrapped up in a happy-ending bow.

 **@carter:** Sometimes I feel like a side character in my own life.

 **@leo:** me too, and it fucking sucks. one more.

 **@carter:** You only gave me two.

 **@leo:** please?

 **@carter:** Fine. Three: I like you.

_Shit._

He did it again; send without thinking.

Evan has to clutch on his phone tightly so he doesn’t drop it (again). He sees the typing bubble pop up and disappear for a minute, and he stares at his words blankly. _I like you._ Who does he like? Who is the person behind the screen?

One thing’s for sure: he knows it’s not a lie. He _does_ like Leo. He likes his words. He likes the way he wakes up in the morning and immediately checks for a new message. He likes the way he can tell Leo anything, like they have an unexplained bond that transcends knowing each other in person. 

His phone vibrates, and Evan checks the notification before he can second-guess himself.

 **@leo:** three: i like you too.

Evan thinks his face is going to break, he’s smiling so hard. He flops over, releasing a muffled scream into his pillow. It takes every ounce of willpower not to tell Leo the truth right then and there. About where he is.

 _Who_ he is.

No one’s ever said anything as intimate as “I like you” to him. So who cares if he wants to enjoy it a little? He’s never felt this way about anyone before. So what if felt giddy, anyway?

Evan Hansen wasn't  _happy_. But tonight? Tonight, he felt like he mattered.


	9. nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *sighs in frustration* evan's an oblivious idiot; pt. 3

Throughout all of Monday, Evan finds himself unable to focus. In math, he catches himself sneaking glances at Zoe (who is back to wearing contacts again) when he should be doing a practice packet on conic sections. In AP Psychology, he is unable to focus on The Lorax’s lecturing because he is hyper-aware of how loudly Connor breathes, and how he has a similar habit to his sister: drumming his fingernails on his desk. He’s also supposed to be focusing on his group’s reading of Hamlet, but keeps spacing out.

And all because he’s thinking about Leo.

However, by the time the final bell rings, Evan feels himself sweating nervously, now unable to think of anything but his work training. He debates calling up the museum and cancelling the training; sitting in his room all afternoon seemed like a much easier option than dealing with people for a five hour shift.

He lingers by his locker, allowing the rest of the school to clear out of the building before exiting the main doors. He waited too long and missed the city bus, and Jared would’ve already left.

So, he was left to walk.

Which probably meant he’d be late, so he decided it wasn’t even worth it to try.

Evan pops in his earbuds and heads off the campus, kicking leaves on the sidewalk and keeping his head down. Based on the grey sky and the chilly wind, unusual to September California weather, he predicts it will start to rain. Sure enough, after a few minutes, raindrops fall from the sky, followed by a budding rainstorm.

Evan opens his umbrella (thankfully, he always has one handy), although it does little to protect him from the windy rainstorm. He’s only been walking for two minutes; he had perhaps another half hour before he’d reach the downtown area. Already freezing, an uncontrollable shiver runs up his spine. He pauses at an intersection, watching cars fly by in kaleidoscopic colors.

Before he can cross the crosswalk, a loud honk startles him out of his thoughts. He jumps in his spot, his heart racing with adrenaline. Glancing behind him worriedly, he sees a car has pulled over on the side of the road, and the driver is rolling the window down.

Not able to get a good look at the person, Evan instantly assumes them to be a kidnapper and takes a scared step back, plotting his escape route. The crosswalk light turns red. _20 seconds._

“Hansen! What the hell are you doing?” He hears a familiar voice shout. _Connor?_

Evan steps forward towards the car hesitantly, leaning over to look through the window.

“Walking,” He says matter-of-factly, trying to ignore the way his voice shakes from the cold.

“Well, no shit,” Connor laughs. “I mean, why are you walking in the rain? I told you, I’d give you a ride if you needed one.”

Evan glances back at the crosswalk. _10 seconds_. Only barely enough time to make a break for it.

“Well, I, um, didn’t want to inconvenience you?” It comes out more like a question.

“Hansen, we’re literally headed to the same place, from the same place. Carpooling. It saves the planet.”

“Well, if you put it that way…” Evan thinks. If it saves the environment, how could he refuse?

“It’s fine. I’m okay, it’s not that long of a walk…” Evan trails off. The crosswalk light stops blinking, and he clenches his fists in his hoodie pockets.

Suddenly, Connor is getting out of the car, approaching him on the sidewalk. Evan flinches away, once again reminded by their height difference. He’s afraid he’s going to punch him or something, and steps back, his back hitting a streetlamp.

“It’s nearly a half hour away, and your training shift starts in fifteen minutes. Not to mention walking in the rain is going to get you sick,” Connor deadpans. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Get in.”

Evan bites his lip as he hesitates. Finally, he wills himself to open the passenger door, suddenly very aware of how soaked he is. He quickly closes his umbrella and shakes off the excess water, setting it and his backpack in front of the seat.

Connor’s car is comfortably warm, the stereo turned down to silent. He wonders if he’s going to ruin the leather interior from his damp clothes, and it’s all he can think about while Connor shifts the car into drive and merges back into traffic.

Fiddling with the frayed edges on the seatbelt, Evan’s gaze flickers between the rainy windshield and Connor’s profile. He notices the way Connor drives well above the speed limit, even when the roads are slick, and the way he doesn’t seem to notice. Instinctively, his hand reaches for the handle and he sighs shakily to steady his breathing.

“What’s wrong?” Connor asks, not taking his eyes off the road.

“N-nothing,” Evan responds immediately.

“It’s not nothing. You’re breathing funny. Tell me.”

“It’s… it’s just-- you’re driving so--”

“Fast?” Connor guesses, as sarcastic bite in his tone. The beat-up car jolts as he quickly takes his foot off the acceleration pedal. “Sorry, backseat driver. I do that sometimes. Bad habit.”

“Passenger seat driver,” Evan corrects quietly.

Connor glances at him briefly, before clicking his tongue. “Alright then,” He chuckles. “You know, don’t be afraid to tell me if I’m freaking you out. It’s not like I’m trying to make you go into panic mode.”

“R-Right. Okay,” Evan nods, which is stupid, considering Connor doesn’t see that, and chooses not to say anything else.

Connor drives slower for the rest of the drive, and Evan’s heart rate returns to an (almost) normal pace.

\- - - -

“So usually, we rotate jobs around here. You’ll work at the front desk, in the back with customer service and online transactions, you’ll clean up spills and trash, you’ll watch over the exhibits, or you’ll work the front ticket booth,” Alana explains as she and Evan wander through the first floor of the museum.

Evan is paired with Alana for his first day of training, which is slightly disappointing (although he refuses to admit it), because he thought he could’ve been paired with Connor. She’s showing him around the museum, which, luckily, isn’t infiltrated by thieving children that afternoon. Evan tries to remember everything she tells him, from emergency protocols to where each exhibit was located, but everything escapes his mind and he eventually gives up on trying. Alana has showed him a preview of each of the jobs for the past few hours, and so far, he’s not too worried.

Until, the inevitable.

“Today we’re going to start you off with the front ticket booth,” Alana explains as they head back downstairs. “There’s a kids event that happens every other Monday afternoon at five-thirty, so we’ll need two people in the box office today.”

“What’s the event?” Evan asks curiously.

“It’s a 3-D showing in the planetarium about the human processes inside the body,” Alana explains. “I think I’ve seen the cartoon over two hundred times. It’s supposed to show how the gross things like boogers and saliva matter to our health.”

“Fun,” Evan nods, even though it really doesn’t sound like it.

Alana checks her smart-watch, and ushers for him to follow her. They enter a door close to the exit, leading to a small room with two swivel chairs and a large Plexiglas window that leads to the outside street. Already, there is a line of impatient people waiting outside the museum. Evan is greeted with a blast of hot air and grimaces.

“Forgot to mention,” Alana comments as Evan takes a seat. “It’s not air conditioned. Welcome to the Hot Box.”

\- - - -

The next two hours can be summed up in three words. _Hell. On. Earth._

For starters, Evan starts sweating within two minutes. He constantly has to wipe his brow with the back of his palm, and his new work polo is an uncomfortable, unbreathable material. He prays he doesn’t have visible sweat stains as he shucks out one ticket after the next.

“We _reserved_ seats,” One blonde woman says, a crying child on her hip. “Can’t you look it up in your system or something?”

“No, ma’am, we can’t take pre-ordered tickets unless you have either a printed out copy or a digital receipt we can scan,” Alana explains sheepishly to the impatient woman. She frowns and storms out of line, muttering something incoherent under her breath.

Meanwhile, Evan has to twist back and forth on his swivel chair to reach the printed out tickets, which has resulted in him banging his knees on the low shelf several times. He knows he’s going to have bruises by tomorrow but clenches his teeth through the pain.

“Is the fan not working?” He mutters to Alana, who glances over at it wearily. The fan isn’t rotating anymore, and the blades are moving more slowly.

“Probably needs new batteries,” She huffs, pushing up her glasses. She leans into the microphone to help the next customer. “How many tickets?” She prompts in a fake-cheery voice.

It’s nearly two hours of printing ticket after ticket, asking “How many?” and “Enjoy the show!” countless times, thumbing through dollar bills and sliding out change in coins, and wiping the sweat off his face. By the time the line clears out and the show is presumably over, Evan leans back in his chair, never feeling so exhausted in his life.

“I can’t believe I survived that,” He exhales, the tension leaving his body.

“It’s not usually this bad,” Alana tells him, trying to keep things positive. “This is just one of our busier nights. Now that school’s back in, it’ll be slow. Plus, we rotate positions.”

Evan sighs again.

“You did really well for your first day,” Alana encourages him with a smile.

 _Did I?_ Evan wonders. Upon thinking of it more, he realizes he was too preoccupied with satisfying each customer that he didn’t even think about saying the wrong thing or being annoying. _Huh. Maybe I did._ "Thanks," He mumbles shyly.

“If you want, you can go help out upstairs with cleaning the planetarium while I hang back here,” Alana offers. “Third floor.” Evan nods quickly, taking any opportunity he can to leave the dreaded Hot Box. The door slams behind him and he relishes in the feeling of sweet, sweet air conditioning.

Evan locates the break room and takes a long swig from his water bottle, only now realizing how dry his mouth is. He runs his hands through his sweaty hair to tame it, standing in front of the fan in the break room.

When he feels a little better, he heads up the two flights of stairs. Various children and families are heading down the staircase, chatting amiably, and he presses himself against the wall to stay out of their way. A security officer waves at him on the second floor, and he timidly waves back.

When he approaches the wooden double doors of the planetarium (which he hadn’t spotted amidst the crisis of his last visit), he hesitates on opening them. A father and two kids exit, and he grabs the handle just before it shuts, sneaking in quietly.

Upon entering the planetarium, he’s taken aback by how _gigantic_ it is. He saw the observatory when he first entered the building, but standing underneath it made him feel ten times smaller. An array of movie-theater seats encircled the area, with a large computer system and projector stationed in the center. The projector was set on a default picture, a rotating image of Saturn.

“Wow,” Evan breathes in awe, taking in the beauty of the planet. The picture was high definition, to where Evan could count the layered rings on the planet.

“If you’re just going to stand there, the least you could do is help out,” An annoyed voice echoes, and Evan glances around in the semi-dark until he spots Connor in one of the back rows, kneeling over and sweeping into a dustpan.

“S-sorry, Alana sent me here to h-help and I--”

“It’s fine, Hansen,” Connor interrupts. “Just grab that mop. Some kid spilled apple juice over in Row C, even though there’s a strict no-food policy in here.”

Evan quickly complies, even though he’s never handled a janitorial mop before. He forgets to wring it out before taking it out of the bucket and accidentally splashes more water on the floor than he should.

“O-oops,” Evan stares at the now-wet floor.

Connor sees the mess and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sets down the dustpan and walks over, taking the mop out of his hands. “I’ll do it myself. Just… make yourself useful and pick up trash or something.”

Evan nods, ducking his head, and carefully scours the entire area twice for any signs of litter. He collects two paper cups from the food court, three gum wrappers, and a used tissue (gross), all tossing them in the garbage. Then, he and Connor work together in wiping down all the surfaces with disinfectant wipes. They work quietly but efficiently, a comfortable silence between them.

“So, Alana stuck you in the Hot Box on your first day, huh?” Connor guesses as they toss the wipes into the trash can.

“How… how did you know?” Evan wonders aloud.

“The AC is blasting in here, but you’re sweating,” Connor points out. Evan suddenly becomes very self-conscious and crosses his arms over his chest. “Oh, don’t give me that look. Come on. I’ll show you why working here is worth it.”

Evan notices Connor locks the door, but says nothing about it, before heading to the center platform. Evan hesitates by the door until Connor spots him and points to one of the seats. “Sit,” He demands. “First row has the best seats.”

Evan scrambles to the front row and takes one of the center seats, crossing one leg over the other and then choosing to unfold it right after. He wipes his hands on his trousers and waits as Connor boots up the projector, which loudly whirrs to life after a few moments. The grey background turns black, and Connor grabs a remote control clicker before joining him in the adjacent seat.

“Okay. Ready for your mind to be blown?”

Evan nods, but it’s dark, so he whispers “Yup.” Considering he doesn’t have a choice on what else to say.

“This,” Connor presses a button, “Is what the night view of our stars looks like right now.”

When Evan looks at it, it just looks like a blank screen, save for a few hardly-noticeable stars scattered around the sky.

“Not too exciting right?” It’s like he’s reading his mind. “Watch what happens when I take away the light pollution from the city.”

With one click of a button, the sky - no, the screen, Evan reminds himself - is filled with stars of different sizes and colors, pale blues and reds, diamond-like whites, and a crescent moon. Evan gasps in surprise; the sky itself is no longer black, but a gorgeous dark blue, swirled with purples and oranges.

“This is our sky in 2018. Although we see this specific view of the stars, the light coming from them has taken over four to travel to our very own planet Earth. So, it’s almost like you get to look back in time every night.”

Evan remembers what life was like four years ago. He was just starting high school with the same people he’s known since kindergarten. His dad drove him in because he was afraid of taking the bus, which meant he was late to work. Evan remembers home-cooked meals when his mom wasn’t working two jobs, the three of them at their tiny breakfast nook with homemade mac and cheese or grilled chicken, until his dad came to dinner less and less, and eventually his chair was always left vacant, his mom took up the night shifts, and Evan grew used to eating Chinese takeout and pepperoni pizza straight from the box.

“The sky is always changing, whether we realize it or not. Every planet, every star, they’re always orbiting. Here’s a view from the Mediterranean ten years ago, when a meteorite flew over Cyprus.” The picture shifts to daytime, the sky lit up in an orange, daytime glow as a green meteorite streaks through a valley of stars.

“And this is what the sky looked like almost two hundred years ago,” Connor says in a quiet voice. He’s speaking so softly now, it’s only loud enough for Evan to hear him. The stars shift and dance again, and Evan smiles, imagining that no matter the time, no matter the place, everyone can look up and see the same stars surrounding them.

Connor flips back to an image of the current sky. He’s able to rotate it, making Evan feel dizzy. Computerized lines are traced on the projector, and Evan is able to make out different constellations.

“Ursa Major,” Evan points out, knowing the most famous constellation. He’s heard Leo talk about constellations for so many hours, he could probably name them all by heart. “And there’s Aquarius.” He points off to the right.

“Impressive,” Connor nods, and Evan smiles.

“I’m an Aquarius,” Evan says, although Connor didn’t ask. He bites his lip, refraining from saying anything else. “What’s your star sign?”

Connor pauses.

“Virgo,” He eventually says.

The picture shifts again, and Evan is face-to-face with an aerial view of Elmwood. “So,” Connor says. “Here’s us. This is the part that’s really going to fuck with your head.”

He presses a button, and the camera slowly begins to zoom out. California comes into view, followed by the shape of the entire country, the blue oceans, and the clouds that surround the planet. Earth is in plain view now, and to the left of it, all in a line, is the Moon, Mercury, and Venus.

Soft music begins to play through the stereophonic sound as the image shifts left. The presentation shows a size comparison between each of the planets, getting increasingly bigger as time passes. The Earth proceeds to get smaller and smaller, and by the time the Sun comes into view, the Earth is the size of a marble on the screen. But it doesn’t stop there; the Sun becomes suddenly much smaller as other stars appear. Sirius A, Pollux, Aldebaran, Mu Cephei, and then VY Canis Majoris.

“That’s the largest known star in our universe,” Connor whispers, pausing the video. “They call it the red supergiant. If you tried to circumnavigate it at 900 kilometers an hour, it would take you 1100 years to go around it once.”

“That’s terrifying,” Evan whispers back.

“We’re just getting started,” Connor presses play, and Evan feels himself growing more anxious as things get larger and larger. He sees the Stingray Nebula, the Boomerang Nebula, and the Tarantula Nebula, the largest of them all. Then come the galaxies: _Milky Way, Pinwheel, Whirlpool…_ Evan’s head feels like a whirlpool right now, it’s spinning so much. Everything is so big, and here he is, having disappeared among it all. At the end of the presentation is a circle, labeled _Observable Universe,_ the rest of the screen blurred out in static.

“What’s weird is we still don’t know everything out there,” Connor says. “This could only be a fraction of what our universe holds. Not to mention, there could be multiple universes. A multiverse.”

“Great,” Evan says through gritted teeth, blinking back tears.

“Makes you wonder, huh? Us humans, we’re so insignificant. Why does it even matter what we do? With a universe floating through infinite space and time, our entire lives are just blips of nothingness. So what’s the point of it all?”

“There isn’t one,” Evan whispers.

Connor sighs, his head falling against the seat. “Exactly right, Hansen,” He mumbles. “You’re exactly right. Nothing fucking matters in this stupid world. So why even bother?”

“Because you don’t have to impact the entire universe to mean something in this world,” Evan says softly. “You impact the people around you in more ways than you realize. Even if you think you’ve done nothing remarkable with your life, it doesn’t mean you’re not worth remembering.”

Connor’s looking at him now with a weirded-out expression, and Evan’s thankful it’s somewhat dark, so his embarrassed blush is concealed. “What?” He challenges.

“That’s the most you’ve said all in one sentence,” Connor observes, a hint of amusement laced in his tone. He rests the side of his head on the seat so he can get a better look at Evan. “And I don’t believe a single word of it.”

“Well, you should,” Evan purses his lips. “No one deserves to be forgotten. Not even you.”

“Time will continue on, though, Evan,” Connor reminds him bitterly. “Until all of us are gone, and the Sun dies out, and all that humans have worked for will be gone forever.”

“Then amidst the supernova, we’ll join the rest of the stars,” Evan decides. “But for now, I say we just appreciate life for what it is right now.”

“You sound ridiculous,” Connor smiles, and it’s the first time Evan’s seen him smile genuinely. There's an odd twist in his stomach: pain. Good pain. 

The projector turns off from inactivity, and Connor stands up, fumbling for the light switch. The screen resets to the default grey, and Evan is violently reminded of a much colder reality.

“Come on,” Connor says. “It’s almost closing time.”

Evan takes one last look up at the projector, trying to remember the sight. He thinks it may be forever burned into his eyelids.

 _The stars are always around us,_ he remembers. Even during the day, they wait patiently behind the Sun.

And during the nighttime, the stars illuminate the darkness. No matter what, there is always light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so bad at writing fluff haha r i p sorry folks 
> 
> wrote all this over the weekend gotta love having no life yeehaw


	10. ten

Just when Evan thinks that things may be going _right_ for once, he does that thing he always seems to do: screw everything up.

Since his conversation with Leo on Saturday night, he hasn’t been able to face him. He’s tried multiple times to type out a message, but always ended up deleting it and giving up.

If Leo really did like him, wouldn’t he have said something by now?

No. This is too weird. He’s not going to lose his friend over this.

 **@carter:** This is too awkward. I don’t even know who you are. Let’s chill out.

He’s sitting in a Starbucks, hunched over his psychology textbook and tapping his pencil anxiously against the paper. He tries to focus on studying for his quiz tomorrow, but ends up reading over the same lines over and over. Instead, he finds himself staring out the window. Rain pours down in chaotic drops, slashing across the windowpane like knives. Sludgy roads and blurred-out street lights accompany his fretful frame as he unwinds, wrapping his coat around him tighter and holding his phone close to his face. Setting it down, picking it back up, checking his phone nervously a few times with no reply until fifteen minutes later, he receives a response.

 **@leo:** dial it back from “i like you”? kay… not sure how to be more chill than that.

 **@leo:** in my world, “i like you” means you’re cool, whatever. relax, dude, it’s not like i’m proposing.

Evan cringes at the bitterness in Leo’s words, his jaw clenching reflexively. _Why did I even bother? I should’ve left it as is; now, I’ve ruined everything._ Anger twists in his stomach, and he waits two beats before replying.

 **@carter:** Shut up. It’s just… forget it.

 **@leo:** it’s just what?

 **@carter:** Nevermind. Seriously, just drop it.

 **@leo:** i don’t want to.

 **@carter:** Well, I am. Gotta go. Bye.

Evan puts his phone down again. He doesn’t feel angry, just… disappointed. Deflated. He wasn’t liked, he was just cool- Well. The fabricated, edited version of himself that Leo didn’t really know is cool. _Whatever,_ Evan thinks. It’s not like it is a big deal or anything. It was just nice to think… _ugh_ . That he _meant_ something to someone else.

When the vibration from his phone runs through the table, Evan can’t not look at the notification.

 **@leo:** wait. come back. i’m sorry. that was a dick move.

 **@leo:** i just mean… i like talking to you here, you know? you’re the only person who really gets me. i meant it. i do like you. i think if i knew you in person, i’d be too nervous to say anything, but here, i feel safe. happy. idk. do you know what i mean?

Evan does, but he doesn’t want to give Leo that satisfaction.

 **@carter:** If given the chance, you wouldn’t want to know who I was.

 **@leo:** you’re wrong.

Evan doesn’t believe him.

 **@carter:** What makes you so sure? You know I have anxiety, a stutter. My family is screwed up and I’m even worse, and I’m just counting down the days until I can get out of here.

 **@leo:** and i have clinical depression and bipolar disorder. so what? we’re both fucked up. that’s why we need each other. that’s why i need you.

Evan bites his lip and rests his cheek on his hand, trying to formulate a reply. Luckily, he doesn’t have to yet.

 **@leo:** i never told you this, but the night i signed up for this online support group, i was planning on killing myself. and then we were paired up by that stupid algorithm, and you made that silly dad joke about space, and it kept me alive until the next morning. and here i am, 387 mornings later, still alive.

Evan had no idea he saved Leo that night. Sometimes, it’s the smallest things that keep people going— the release of the next season of your favorite show, a full moon, and, supposedly, a stranger online.

 _387 days,_ Evan thinks, blinking back tears. _He counts._

Evan counts too. It’s been 394 days, thirteen hours, seven minutes since his dad left. 24 days, five hours, thirty seven minutes since he stepped foot in Elmwood. 270 days until he graduates and can finally escape.

 **@leo:** just, please. don’t leave me.

 **@carter:** I won’t. Never.

 **@leo:** so we’re good?

 **@carter:** Always.

Evan feels his uneven breath steady a little bit, and the swelling feeling in his chest releases. Rubbing his eyes, he pockets his phone and his stomach grumbles. Glancing up around him, he notices the coffee shop is nearly empty; probably a few more minutes until closing time.

Besides the twentysomething girl with earbuds and a laptop in the back corner, the only people in the Starbucks are him and the barista, a teenage boy leaning over the bar, typing onto a cell phone. He seems to be in his own little world, a dreamlike smile playing on his lips. Evan almost stops himself from bothering him, but another loud grumble in the pit of his stomach is embarrassing enough to step up to order something.

“Um… hi,” Evan says quietly, and the boy looks up. Evan’s marine vision locks with a pair of cinnamon brown eyes and the longest eyelashes he’s ever seen.

“Hey there,” He says softer than he should, and Evan bites back the shiver that shoots up his spine, becoming acutely aware of his Italian accent. “What can I get for you?”

“Um…” Amidst his (obvious) admiring of the boy, he’d forgotten to find something to order. Careful as to not inconvenience him into waiting as he searched for something to buy, he picks the first thing he sees. “Can I get a vanilla latte? With, um, almond- wait, no, coconut milk. I’m allergic. To almonds, I mean, not coconut. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” The barista says, an amused lilt in his voice, and he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. He glances over Evan slowly, painfully, as he grabs a cup and turns away, grabbing a coffee pot.

Evan shifts in his place, staring at the half-pound bags of ground coffee, and then the display case of various desserts and pastries. “Can I get a brownie too?” When the barista nods, bending over, Evan forces himself to turn his gaze away.

“Here you go,” He slides the hot coffee in Evan’s direction, their fingers grazing slightly as Evan takes the cup from him. When he rises the cup to his lips, he sees a name scribbled on the side: _Evan,_ and he cradles it in his hands carefully.

“H-how did you know my name?” Evan can’t help the feverish blush, a watery pink shade, that crawls up on his neck and sits high on his cheekbones with unknown pride. “Oh wait, did I already tell you? That’d make sense, wouldn’t it. S-sorr-”

“You didn’t,” His voice is cheerfully clipped. He scratches the back of his neck nervously, His dark chocolate hair is a mess of coiled curls, tanned skin stained with rose. “I actually go to Redwood?” It comes out more like a question. “I sit diagonal from you in psychology.”

Evan is shocked to learn that one, someone like _him_ could be remembered, and that two, he positively missed this face in psychology class. Granted, Evan was too focused on doodling or taking notes to glance behind him; still, he feels ridiculous for not even knowing his name.

“I feel bad, I don’t know yours,” Evan grips his coffee cup a little tighter, the heat searing through his skin and traveling up his fingertips.

The boy holds out one hand, the wrapped-up brownie in the other. “Lorenzo,” He says in a slow, saccharine way that makes Evan’s throat close up. Evan reaches for his hand and tries to ignore the way his skin feels.

“I’m Evan,” He replies automatically. “Hansen. Oh my god, you already knew that. I’m an idiot.”

 _This is why you should always think before you speak,_ he berates himself.

Lorenzo laughs in sunset hues with bubblegum lips, the color wrapping its way around Evan’s mind and taking its hold. Evan can’t look him in the eye, the shade of brown too overwhelming, as if he could actually see life in them. Through his touch, he can feel the oxygen that his presence brings fill his lungs, and the way his gentle laughter pushes away the chaos in his mind.

“I guess I’ll see you around, Evan,” Lorenzo pauses intentionally, grinning. The silence dances in the air. “Hansen.”

Evan feels his heart implode against his ribcage. His response is practically incoherent and he resists the urge to say something positively idiotic. Instead, he smiles as warmly as he can and carefully carries his coffee and brownie to his table. Opening his textbook again, Evan quickly learns he’s lost all ability to focus, fingers curling and uncurling on the coffee cup, unable to sit still with the boy oh-so-conveniently in his line of sight.

He rises the cup to his lips, the bitter scents of vanilla and cedarwood filling his mind. He burns his tongue from the hot drink and pulls it away in shock, staring at the cup in disgust, when something else catches his eye.

On the other side of his cup, next to the logo, is a ten-digit phone number.

And above it, a message:

_Call me. -Leo. :)_

Evan nearly chokes on his sip of coffee and looks back towards the barista; he’s lucky he’s turned slightly away now, typing on his phone again.

The clock ticks twenty times before Evan’s brain starts to process details again; he sets the cup down slowly, taking his phone out. He types the unknown number into the recipient bar and sends a simple message: _Hi._

Lorenzo’s eyes flash between his phone and Evan, who watches him expectantly. When their gazes meet, he types a response without breaking eye contact.

_Hey. :)_

It takes every ounce of strength not to scream, laugh, or run out of the coffee stop as fast as possible. Instead, he tucks the brownie and textbook into his backpack, gives Lorenzo a friendly wave, and walks out of the Starbucks as calmly as possible, assuring himself he is completely and utterly fine.

\- - - -

Before, instead of paying attention, Evan would sit in his classes in Redwood High School and predict the face that matched the screen name “Leo”. He’d take in the various personalities and appearances of his peers, boys and girls and everything in between, judging, speculating, _searching._ Searching for a sign, any sign, that could point him in a direction.

Was Leo the quiet guy who always wore an oversized hoodie, even in the middle of the summer? Maybe Leo was the girl who liked to wear short skirts, but covered the bruises on her legs with makeup? The one who played the acoustic guitar on the quad during lunch as the girls giggled and looked on? Or perhaps, Leo was the boy with the broken, oversized glasses from years of school-bully torment, and prefered books to reality?

Evan thought that maybe, all that speculation was coming to an end, and the answer was slapping him in the face. It was so simple. _Too_ simple. Too easy to be real, and yet how could it not be? Why focus on silly things like logic when he was drowning in _hope?_

Well. Evan was sure of it; it had to be him. Leo was right there all that time. Now, Evan just had to decide what his next move was.

As he walks into psychology the next day, Evan’s eyes immediately flicker from desk to desk, looking for the barista from last night. He’d purposely walked to class quickly to get there early, which meant he was one of the first in the room. Sitting at his normal seat, Evan zeroes his vision on the door, watching as uninterested teenagers file in in pairs, earbuds in their ears and bubblegum on their lips, chattering about nothing of importance.

Connor saunters in a moment later, his head tucked in a grey knit beanie with pins on the side. Evan forces himself to look in a different direction, forcing a polite smile-like grimace on his mouth as Connor slides into the seat behind him.

And before he can turn around and say something, Lorenzo slips through the doors, flushed cheeks and unruly curls, looking out-of-breath as he slides into his seat just as the bell rings. Evan glances over his shoulder and Lorenzo mouths an amused ‘phew’, pushing his hair out of his eyes, which is enough to make Evan turn around quickly. He feels his cheeks burn, but ignores it, focusing on Mr. O’Hare’s words (which is a challenge in of itself).

“...performing a psychological activity to study your perceptions of paradise and idealism,” The Lorax is explaining something as he passes out papers, which match the assignment on the overhead projection. When a sheet falls on his desk, he reads the title, _Ideal World,_ and a short blurb of the point of the project.

Evan wonders why it feels like every single teacher in this school wants to assign him some sort of project, and figures it’s no use praying for it to be individual. He tunes back in to Mr. Lorax, who is going through the rubric.

“...can work with up to three partners, but everyone should write their own essay. Pair up and get started.” His words are cut off by the loud shouting of students and the scraping of desks as kids partner up.

Evan’s prepared to work alone - the easier option - when he hears a voice call his name. No, _two_ voices.

“Hey Evan, want to-

“Hansen. Let’s partner.”

Evan turns around to see both Lorenzo and Connor looking at the back of his head, and then at each other. Evan notices the visible annoyed grimace twisting on the corner of Connor’s mouth, and Lorenzo’s slightly-widened eyes.

Well, this was new.

In just a matter of weeks, Evan’s gone from no one talking to him in school, choosing him last in gym class, to two different people asking _him_ to be their partner. Willingly.

What kind of fucked-up dreamland is he living in?

“I- uh…” Evan stumbles, glancing between two pairs of expectant eyes.

“Why don’t the three of us just work together?” Lorenzo offers with a meek smile. Evan nods, relieved, and Connor makes a noise of reluctant approval, and they fashion their desks into a cluster.

“So. Ideal world,” Lorenzo reads aloud. “Anyone have a clue on what that means?”

“Paradise,” Evan says quickly. “A world where everyone is happy. Safe. Loved.” The answer is automatic -- why wouldn’t it be? To Evan, the ideal civilization is everything he thinks he doesn’t have. He thinks that the ideal world makes sure everyone has proper food and shelter, education, healthcare, security… a world where everyone is comforted by friends and family.

“If everyone has access to food and shelter, healthcare, safety, there would likely be no wars, no world hunger,” Lorenzo agrees, nodding. “Like Heaven on Earth.” They share a smile, and Connor clicks his tongue.

“That’s impossible,” He says sharply. “Heaven on Earth? How could everyone afford all the luxuries? How would anything get done? If everyone has free access to everything, there’d be no production. No advancements. Just a bunch of lazy pigs eating and partying.”

“That’s why it’s ideal, Connor,” Lorenzo shrugs half-heartedly. “It gives the world basic human needs but also ensures everyone can flourish. America is too capitalist; not enough opportunity for everyone to succeed.”

“Then go back to Italy if you hate it here so much,” Connor snaps.

“No thank you,” Lorenzo shakes his head. “I like it here,” His eyes flicker hopefully to Evan, who’s unsure of what to say, and feels his cheeks grow warm as Connor purposely looks away.

“What’s your ideal civilization, Connor?” Evan asks to try to change the conversation. He’s starting to regret pairing up with both of them; individually, he enjoys Connor’s company, and Lorenzo is new, undiscovered, hopeful. But together? Evan feels like he’s a rope in a game of tug-of-war.

“I think that no one deserves to go to this “Heaven on Earth”, because everyone sins,” Connor explains bitterly. “Life here sucks. There’s poverty, war, starvation, and death every day. But the afterlife? That’s ideal.”

Evan stares at him curiously. “But you have no idea what the afterlife holds, so how do you know if it’s ideal?”

“You don’t,” Connor shrugs. “‘But that the dread of something after death / The undiscover’d country from whose bourn / No traveller returns, puzzles the will / And makes us rather bear those ills we have / Than fly to others that we know not of?”

Evan recognizes the phrase instantly, from his hours of memorizing lines and studying the soliloquy. “You know _Hamlet_ ?” He asks in surprise. And then, “You _memorized_ Hamlet?”

Connor makes a ‘whatever’ gesture, failing to meet Evan’s eye. “All I’m saying is that the afterlife promises us something different; most believe we go to hell and suffer, but our “ideal world” can be a paradise where all those needs are filled in death, considering it’s impossible in life.”

“That’s actually… really cool, Connor,” Lorenzo compliments him softly, scribbling down his ideas on the blank side of their paper. His hesitation only seems to deepen Connor's frown. “So if everyone goes to this Hell, how do you say we organize it?”

“Assuming that everyone sins, we can have the dead people choose the ‘house of heaven’ they wish to live with for all of eternity,” He takes the pencil from Lorenzo’s hand and starts to scribble down ideas, explaining as he writes in quick, spiky writing. “Let’s see… Greed would have luxurious mansions, beach homes and mountain chalets, fancy sports cars, lavish lifestyles with any material desire to come to mind.”

 _It’s a little like the rich Elmwood neighborhoods around here_ , Evan thinks, trying not to miss his shabby Seattle apartment too much.

“Lust can be a society of people who can look however they wish, have any person of their dreams. Nothing would be too taboo in the world of pleasure and sensuality,” Lorenzo adds, pointing to the paper. Connor nods, writing it down.

“Gluttony is a world of the finest foods from all over the world, but no risk of gaining weight. Only the enjoyment of social dinners and exquisite meals,” Connor adds under the third category.

Lorenzo and Connor keep shooting suggestions out, one after the other, almost in a race to come up with the best idea. Lorenzo suggested Sloth would be like a spa, for relaxation and rest, with waterbed mattresses, facials, and daily massages. Connor said Wrath would be like the common conception of Hell, a fiery pit where people could elicit revenge on any enemy from life. The thought of torture and fire terrified Evan, and he kept his mouth shut as they added on to the concepts.

Lorenzo suggests Pride would be a simple, quiet place, where you could design your own universe to be whatever you wanted. You became the controller of everything, from the evolution of humanity to the design of planets and stars. At the mention of space, Evan looked up. As Lorenzo describes (to just him, Evan notices) how entire galaxies could be arranged, and people within the universe could live wherever they wanted, Evan listens to him with a dreamy smile on his face, cheek propped up on his hand. _If he really is Leo,_ Evan thinks, _Hearing him talk about space out loud in that accent is a hundred times better than texting about it._

Connor visibly tenses and cuts him off, saying “Okay. Got it. What about Envy?”

Lorenzo hums thoughtfully. “No clue. Got any ideas?”

Connor thinks for a moment, tapping the pencil against the desk. He stares at the paper, and then at Lorenzo, and finally, his gaze lazily shifts to Evan. Recognition flashes in his eyes, and he clenches his jaw. “No idea,” He says through gritted teeth.

The awkward silence is too much to bear. “Envy would fulfill what you never got in life,” Evan says quickly, having been silent the entire time. He feels bad about having not contributed before, but now he couldn’t stand the tension between the two boys. “Reliving a new reality. Perhaps with the person you loved but couldn’t have, or a childhood with a deceased parent.”

Connor looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t, biting his tongue and quietly writing it down.

“I like that idea,” Lorenzo agrees automatically, and they share a smile. Evan looks down after a moment, unable to look at him for too long without feeling like his heart will become a supernova, imploding upon itself.

They spend the rest of the class period organizing the map of the seven houses. Lorenzo makes a joke about it looking like Camp Half-Blood, which launches an excited conversation between him and Evan about the book series and Greek mythology that was very off-topic and got Connor more annoyed. He doodles more details on the paper, pressing the lead way too roughly into the page under Envy’s design.

Evan wasn’t paying attention, however, and was so caught up in his excited conversation with Lorenzo, he forgot to be nervous and didn’t think once about the stupid things flying out of his mouth. He also forgot to listen for the bell, and feels disappointment welling in his stomach when he senses other students packing up and heading to their next class.

Evan turns to say something to Connor, but he’s already shoved the paper into a folder, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and is walking out the door without a word. Lorenzo offers Evan a shy “see you later” and Evan waves meekly before rushing out behind him. Connor’s halfway up the nearby staircase when Evan catches up to him, annoyed and out of breath.

“Hey!” Evan shouts from behind him, and when Connor doesn’t turn around, he grabs his arm and whirls him around. “Hey! Connor!”

“Don’t fucking touch me without my permission,” Connor shouts back, earning a few worried looks from student passerbys. Evan instantly pales and his arm drops limply to his side.

“Why didn’t you say goodbye?” He asks softly, unaware of the people pushing and crowding around them as they block off the hallway.

Connor stares at him for a moment. Again, he looks like he has words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back and turns away. “You had someone better to talk to,” He responds dismissively.

Evan freezes, watching him disappear into the crowd. Someone rudely elbows him out of the way of the staircase, and he snaps back into reality. They mutter a string of obscenities, but Evan doesn’t hear them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and the plot thiccens. i love being evil
> 
> the "ideal world" portion is inspired by this awesome person, @wpsstories, on tumblr: http://hanandphil.tumblr.com/post/170979515286/the-asexual-reaper-wpsstories
> 
> speaking of tumblr, if you ever wanna talk to (yell at) me about this fic, feel free to message me there @hanandphil, or my wattpad @hanlovespasta !!


	11. eleven

Evan is lying in his bed one night, staring at the unthinkable. He thinks there may be a glitch on his phone or something; surely what he’s seeing can’t be the case. His message app has four unread notifications from the afternoon - Evan shut off his phone to focus on homework - all from different people. 

The most recent was from Jared, delivered only a few minutes ago:  _ Ordering takeout dor dinner. Pizza or chinese? _

Evan hastily types out a reply, his stomach grumbling on cue.  _ Pizza.  _ Peter was taking his mom out to some social work dinner thing, leaving the two alone for the night. Much like other nights, Jared and Evan developed a routine of agreeing on dinner, Jared making the call (he knew Evan hated the task), and then eating in their respective rooms, hardly talking to each other for the rest of the night.

Jared’s reply comes from his bedroom as he shouts down the hall. “Okay but I’m not getting pineapple this time, you weirdo!” Evan rolls his eyes as he hears a muffled phone conversation as Jared orders dinner.

The next text message is Zoe, in a group chat she made for them, Jeremy, and Michael, to discuss their plans for their Hamlet scene recitation.  _ Performance is in three days, guys! Keep memorizing lines!  _ Earlier in the thread, Michael boasted about how he scored crowns from Burger King for him and Jeremy.

Alana’s message came about an hour ago.  _ Can you work tomorrow night? Another family night special.  _ Evan knew that meant another afternoon in the Hot Box, but agrees nonetheless, knowing he’d have nothing better to do on a Wednesday afternoon.  _ Sure,  _ he replies, hoping she won’t be too bothered by the delayed response.  _ You are a lifesaver :) _ , comes her response after a moment.

And lastly, the message Evan was least expecting but most pleased to see: a message from Lorenzo. Evan nearly drops the phone on his face when he reads it:  _ Want to meet up for coffee sometime? Maybe this time when I’m not working?  _

Evan can’t help the smile that blooms across his face. He’s trying to come up with a response that sounds nonchalant and cool enough when Jared barges into his room. “Ordered a large pepperoni--” He pauses as Evan quickly locks his phone. “What are you smiling so dumbly about?” 

“Nothing,” Evan shakes his head. Jared rolls his eyes and leaves the room, leaving the door open. Groaning, Evan pulls himself out of bed and shuts the door, resting his head against it. Deciding not to delay his reply any longer, Evan types:  _ Yes!! :)  _

Evan is surprised to see how quickly his reply comes, and he has to bite his lip to keep from making any noise of excitement.  _ It’s a date. :) _

He can’t help himself. Evan takes a screenshot of the series of messages, unable to believe the series of events unfolding before his eyes. He can’t imagine a time in his life when he had four notifications total, let alone from four separate people. Well, he’s not sure if Jared counts.

Still. Maybe he’s finally doing something  _ right _ .

_ \- - - - _

Evan’s room becomes a state of nuclear destruction as he searches for the proper outfit for his coffee date with Lorenzo--  _ Leo.  _ Most of his clothes are uber-lame striped polo shirts straight off the cover of  _ Golf Digest  _ and worn-out graphic t-shirts from freshman year. He isn’t sure if it’s worse to be under or overdressed, and feels a state of panic wash over him when the clock ticks down and he hasn’t found a proper outfit. 

A knock at his bedroom door makes him freeze, and when Heidi enters the room and sees the bomb-test site, she raises an eyebrow in confusion. “Going somewhere?” She asks curiously, a knowing smile on her face.

There’s no way Evan ias about to tell her he was going on a date, let alone with a guy, let alone with  _ the  _ guy, so he conjures up the quickest lie that comes to mind. “Hanging out with a friend,” He says quickly. 

Heidi’s face lights up like a Christmas tree, and the next thing Evan knows, she’s pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. “Ohmygosh!” She shouts in an excited rush, burying her face into his shoulder. She pulls away so she can look at him. “That’s so great you’re making friends, honey! What’s their name?”

“Leo,” Evan says, praying he doesn’t blush at a mention of the name. 

Heidi nods, satisfied, looking around at the piles of clothes and moving to pick something up. It’s a denim jacket, a Christmas present from his parents two years ago, something he hasn’t dared to wear since he got it due to confidence issues.

“How about this?” She suggests, putting it in Evan’s hands, atop the flannel and Captain America graphic tee Evan was already holding. “Those two would be great together with your khaki pants.” 

Considering Evan has only a few minutes to get downtown and he has no better options, he nods, takes the denim jacket, finds the khakis, and looks at his mom expectantly for her to leave. “Oh! Right. Well, be safe, sweetie. Be home in time for dinner.”

The moment the door shuts behind her, Evan quickly changes and attempts to fix his messy hair. He picks at the slight sunburn on his nose, frowning at how his freckles have darkened since moving here, and applies deodorant before rushing out of the house.

Upon arriving at his destination, Evan feels sweaty and twice as nervous as before (if that was even possible. He takes off the flannel, ties it around his waist, and puts on the jacket again to hide any sweat stains, preferring to be uncomfortably hot than showing off physical signs of his nervousness. Looking around the Starbucks, he doesn’t see Lorenzo anywhere, and slides into the same booth as the other night, choosing to go on his phone in order to look busy and not-lame.

However, he gets so invested in a  _ National Geographic _ article about whales that when he feels a tap on his shoulder, he practically jumps a foot in his seat. Lorenzo is leaning over his shoulder, smiling at him expectantly. “Hi,” He says, an amused smile on his face.

“You scared me,” Evan responds breathlessly. Lorenzo laughs, and it has the kind of warmth of homemade chocolate chip cookies. 

“Come on, let’s order,” Lorenzo tugs him out of the seat - Evan makes sure he doesn’t trip over his own feet, but almost does anyway - and they approach the line. “An iced caramel macchiato for me, and a vanilla latte with coconut milk for my date here,” He orders, leaning over the counter and smiling up proudly at the barista. Evan bites his lip as he tries not to think of the fact that Lorenzo remembers his coffee order by heart.

“Whatever, Lorenzo,” The guy in the green visor says glumly, scribbling on two clear cups with a Sharpie. “No need to rub it in.” 

“My coworker,” Lorenzo explains to Evan with a halfhearted hand gesture as they wait for their orders. “He’s a sophomore at Berkeley, and he hasn’t had a girlfriend in four months.”

“Four months? What a  _ shame _ ,” Evan says more sarcastically than he intended, and Lorenzo grins. “Meanwhile, me, single for seventeen years.”

When the barista asks for the charge, Evan starts to dig out his wallet, but Lorenzo has already passed over a green credit card before Evan can protest. “H-hey, wait!” It’s too late; the barista already has swiped the card, unfazed by Evan’s embarrassed expression. “I could’ve paid for that you know.”

“Nope,” Lorenzo raises his coffee to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the straw and staring down at Evan. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten my 50% off discount. Come on,” He gestures as he walks towards the exit, and Evan grabs his drink before catching up to the boy.

“Still, I can pay you back,” Evan insists as Lorenzo holds open the door, the bell tinkling as they exit into the downtown streets. 

“That sort of defeats the purpose of me taking you out,” Lorenzo rolls his eyes playfully. Evan forces himself to take faster steps to match his naturally wider gait. “It’s fine, Evan. Really. I wanted to.” 

Evan sighs and stares down into his drink. “Fine…” he trails off, unable to suppress the small smile tugging on his lips.

They walk in silence for a moment, and Evan takes this opportunity to observe this part of town. The sidewalk is made of chipped brick, with palm trees scattered in patches of dirt. Each building is a different shape, from the rundown classic cinema to the pastel purple antique jewelry shop. The window displays are decorated with stylish mannequins and tinsel, and Evan trails behind to admire each one. Within minutes, the cloudy skies have turned grey and opened up completely, going from a light trickle to pouring rain. Screaming and laughing, Lorenzo drags him into an old record store, Sound Pollution, which smells like fresh dew and coffee and cramped to the ceiling with stacks of CDs, cassettes and vinyls.

Shoulder to shoulder, bumping each other occasionally, they thumb through vintage copies of  _ Slip of the Tongue _ and  _ In Utero,  _ from Black Sabbath to Pearl Jam to Miles Davis to even a rare copy of Taylor Swift’s  _ Red.  _ Evan laughs at the one pop artist in a sea of classic rock and 90s grunge. 

“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe they have this,” Lorenzo picks up a copy of Elvis Presley’s  _ Blue Hawaii _ , with its beachy, old-movie cover. He looks over to the bored-looking teenager in the tiny checkout space in the corner and slides it across the counter. “Can you put this on?” He asks hopefully.

The girl blows her choppy bangs irritably and sighs, taking the record out of the sleeve and placing it on the antique gramophone behind her. A scratchy sound comes from the speakers before an ascending piano melody tiptoes around the room.

“Come on, let’s look at the cassette tapes,” Lorenzo tugs on his arm, sipping his coffee with the other. “Oh, I miss Prince. And Michael Jackson. Music was so good back in the day.”

“I’m guessing you’re a fan of the classics?” Evan muses, and Lorenzo flips the cassette in his hands. 

“Back when I was growing up in Italy, my father loved to play American rock music on our stereo,” Lorenzo explains. “I had no idea what they were saying, but I loved the guitar riffs and drums so much I got addicted. I grew up on anything from 1950 to 1995.”

“Any favorites?”

“Easy. The Police, Led Zeppelin, and Queen,” Lorenzo grins. “And,” he gestures to the record player. “Elvis, of course.”

Amidst his smile, Evan senses a bit of sadness in his words, and the way his shoulders slouch just slightly as he babbles nonsensically about some double-feature album. He speaks of the past, as if the memories of music slip further from his grasp every day, getting harder and harder to hear. Lorenzo’s shaking now, only slightly, and Evan places a hand on his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Lorenzo rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s dumb.”

“No, it’s not,” Evan frowns. “What is it?”

“It’s just… I haven’t seen my family in a while? I don’t know if you know this, but I’m an exchange student this year. I’ve already graduated at my old high school, but I took a gap year to travel to America,” Lorenzo explains quietly. “This just makes me a little bit homesick, I guess.”

“I actually didn’t know that,” Evan studies the boy closely. “Your English is really good.” 

“I’ve been learning it since secondary school,” Lorenzo tells him, beaming proudly. “My parents want me to get a football scholarship here. They think American education will be better for my future…” He frowns slightly, but Evan doesn’t push it.  _ Does he not like it here? _

“Football?” Evan echoes. He doesn’t seem like the super-jock quarterback type at all. 

“Oops. You Americans call it soccer, yeah?” Lorenzo giggles, and Evan feels his face warm up again. “See, not-perfect English after all.” He looks down at the cassette tape one more time before tucking it back into its alphabetized location, lingering his gaze before looking away. “We should get out of here if we aren’t going to buy anything,” He suggests with a broken laugh.

They’re careful to walk under the covered walkways of the streets until the sky begins to clear from the freakish fifteen-minute rainfall. They jump over puddles and into the streets and Lorenzo grabs Evan’s hand before he jumps right in the way of a cyclist. Evan nearly loses his balance but Lorenzo steadies him, pulling him along but not letting go.

Arms swinging gently, they sidestep puddles and chat about Lorenzo’s family in Italy-- turns out he has seven brothers and sisters, only one of which is younger (and his favorite) and an aunt and uncle he’s very close to. He’s played soccer for thirteen years and guitar for eleven (coming from his childhood dream to be in a rock band). Evan shares details of his old life in Seattle, from his crappy private school uniforms to watching sunsets on the fire escape, anything and everything he can think of except for his dad. 

He even briefly mentions his old therapist’s suggestion to join a support group, watching for any shifts in Lorenzo’s expression. Lorenzo just smiles and asks if he’s doing any better, and Evan can’t tell if that’s supposed to hint at anything.

Maybe he’s just not great at reading people, so he chooses not to push it further. If Lorenzo really is Leo, maybe he doesn’t want to admit it yet. If it were the case, he'd already know everything Evan's told him today and more. Yet he acted like everything was completely new information.

But that’s okay, because Evan isn’t ready either. He has an itching feeling that once he steps out into the sun and spills his secret, he can never go back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lack of update lately! i've had writers block and needed some inspiration :(
> 
> life update (excuse the mini rant, ik no one cares)  
> \- i've been working on my school musical but that's finally over so i have more time to write :D  
> \- i got into one of my "reach" colleges (but its expensive and 12 hours away from home so idk if i'll go)  
> \- i got a job !! yay for having something to do with my life!! it's at a bubble tea/smoothie place, and i start tomorrow (i'm super anxious about it tho lol)  
> \- i saw love simon and its the BEST MOVIE EVER WOOOOOOO
> 
> ok anyway, hope you enjoyed! don't forget to leave a comment. I LOVE COMMENTS. also talk to me on my tumblr, @hanandphil !! ily guys so much ;D


	12. twelve

Friday's performance was supposed to go fine. Seamless. No issues. Instead, it was all over the place.

The moment Evan walks into the auditorium, seeing the clusters of classmates in regal costumes and holding homemade props, his heart beats at twice the resting rate. He makes a beeline for Jeremy and Michael, whose feet are propped up on an audience seat as they share earbuds and watch a video. They have matching cheap cardboard crowns and kids-size royal robes, and they’re whispering amusedly to themselves.

Evan doesn’t want to interrupt them, but thankfully, Zoe bursts in the auditorium, spots them lounging around, and snaps her fingers. “Hey there! Yeah, you guys! We need to make sure we’re ready!”

Evan looks down at his essay, an individual grade on the project. The assignment was only supposed to be two pages, double spaced, but he ended up writing six - he had a lot to say about Hamlet’s character - and only managed to cut it down to four until he fell asleep at his desk (a habit he seriously needed to try and break). He wasn’t directed to bring anything else, and felt like he wasn’t needed to help out.

“Zoe, we have everything,” Michael plucks the earbud and lets it fall on his lap. “Epic matching costumes? Check. Hamlet’s knife? Well, school policy says no knives, so I made this thing out of tin foil,” he tosses a triangular object in Evan’s direction, who fumbles to catch it but ends up dropping both the “blade” and his essay. “And we all have our lines memorized. This’ll be a breeze.”

 _Except for those who have crippling performance anxiety,_ Evan thinks bitterly. _Well, any kind of anxiety for that matter. Great. I even have anxiety about anxiety._

Zoe looks towards the two pointedly, and then towards Evan, who shrugs lamely.

“Okay, everyone!” Ms. Doherty says from center-stage, dressed like a real thespian in a coral-colored scarf and a white blouse tucked into a navy maxi skirt. She claps to get everyone’s attention, raising her hands out to the audience. “I’m super excited to see everyone’s performances. You’ve all been working very hard these few weeks. Remember that we are an _active_ audience, taking notes in our journals and preparing questions! We want to hear the actors’ thoughts and interpretations that may not be so obvious in the performance. Let’s get started!”

Evan pulls out his journal, quickly writing down his daily journal prompt:

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_I’m about to perform in front of the entire class. What if I say the wrong lines? What if I forget all of my lines? Then I screw up the group grade for everyone, and Zoe says she needs a perfect GPA to get a scholarship to Stanford. Why did they want me in their group, anyways? I just bring everybody down._

_Sincerely, Me._

Evan’s hand is shaking so much as he writes, the lead breaks on the page. He squeezes the pencil so hard, his knuckles turn white, and he quickly flips to a new page. He tries to focus on the scene on the stage; its Rich and Jake as Claudius and Laertes, with Rich standing on a stool to make himself look more powerful (but Evan thinks it’s to make up for their height difference). Their lips are moving, but Evan can’t hear whatever they’re saying because his mind is clouded with doubt and all air is blocked in his throat.

When their scene ends, Evan raises his hand shakily and calls out to Ms. Doherty. “C-Can I go to the b-bathroom?” He manages to stutter out, feeling like he’s going to faint. Ms. Doherty sees his sickly expression and nods, shooing him off while the rest of the class applauds for the pair.

Rushing out of the auditorium, Evan bolts down the arts hallway and into one of the side corridors. With a free lunch to wander around, Evan’s found the safest and quietest places in Redwood, his favorite being the roof. But Evan doesn’t have the luxury of crossing the school right now; he has maybe three minutes to pull himself together and prevent a panic attack.

He enters a less-frequented bathroom and locks himself in the handicapped stall, leaning against the wall. Feeling slightly comforted by the security of four surrounding walls, he buries his face in his hands and recalls his therapist’s words. _Count backwards from 100 by sevens._ He instructs. _Focus on your breathing._

_100… 93… 86…_

Evan slides down to the ground, unfazed by the potential germs, and curls up in the tightest ball he can muster. _Focus on breathing._

He does his best to focus on letting air in through his nose and out through his mouth, but he knows he probably sounds like a hyperventilating turkey, unable to breathe or sit still

_79… 72… 65… 58…_

“Hey, this is my-- Hansen?”

Evan looks up in shock to see Connor standing in the doorway, holding the stall door open. He’s looking down on him, other hand shoved in his oversized hoodie, with this confused - and slightly concerned, although well-hidden - expression on his face. “What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, I… forgot to lock the stall…” Evan looks at the tiled ground, unable to meet his eye. His lip quivers and he wishes he had the strength to fight back his tears, but seeing Connor there just breaks him.

Connor clicks his tongue. “Quit apologizing,” he shakes his head, locking the stall door behind him. He kneels down to Evan’s level, which makes Evan shy away, which makes Connor scoot further away. He’s still sitting next to Evan though, long legs pulled up next to him in a way that would be comical if Evan weren’t in the middle of a panic attack. Judging by his uncomfortable expression, Evan guesses he doesn’t do this consoling thing very often.

_51...44...37…_

_It’s no use._  He decides glumly.  I _give up._

For a moment, Evan just sits there quietly, picking at his shoelace, and he finds himself wondering if Connor’s presence makes things better or worse. He supposes because his mind is distracted by the question, it must be slightly better. Connor eventually asks why he’s here, and Evan picks at his cuticles.

“Performance today…” He says softly. “I get, um, stage fright? It’s dumb, I know.”

“It’s not dumb,” Connor frowns, and Evan flinches at his sudden anger, even if he’s trying to help. “I’d tell you its normal, but no good comes out of that. It doesn’t help at all to be called normal. You know what you should remember, though?”

“...Um, what?”

“It’s just a silly play for high school English class. All those pea-brained idiots in there have zero interest in anything and won’t remember the next day if you screw up,” Connor gestures to the air. “But _you_ , you go out there and you do it for yourself. If you forget your lines, who fucking cares?” He pauses, and sees Evan’s tears. “Oh, god. Kid, please calm down. Just… stop crying. Please. _Fuck_.”

Evan pauses for a moment. Looking at Connor, who’s watching him so closely to make sure he doesn’t pass out or something, he can’t help but forget why he’s crying. “You’re terrible at advice,” He declares after a moment, raising an eyebrow, and Connor snorts in amusement.

“Well fuck you too, Hansen,” He jokes, elbowing him, causing Evan to shoot up with perfect posture, making a weird noise of surprise. “Look. If it helps at all, I’ll skip history and come sit in the auditorium. You can speak your lines to me, can’t you?”

“Maybe?” Evan isn’t so sure. He’s not exactly great at talking to Connor.

“Acting is just talking. You’re having a conversation.” Connor encourages him. Evan wants to tell him, _but I’m terrible at conversations._ “You can do it. “Just focus on me, okay?” He pushes himself up into a standing position, offering a hand to Evan. Evan stares at it for a moment, nervous, before grabbing it and wobbling to his feet. He brushes the tears out of his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Okay.”

\- - - -

“Everything okay?” Zoe whispers softly as Evan slides back into his seat in the dimmed auditorium. “Why is my brother here?” She watches as Connor not-so-subtly heads up the steps and sits a few rows behind the class, hidden from any light but visible to anyone on stage. "I didn't know you two were friends."

“He wanted to watch,” Evan explains quickly, shutting his mouth and sinking down in his chair. He tries not to think about his lines, or stage fright, or anything of the sort. He instead chooses to focus on how Connor had the same mango scent, and figured he and Zoe must use the same shampoo. Grateful it’s dark to conceal his blush, he barely notices when the next group finishes and applause echoes throughout the room.

“Zoe’s group, you’re up!” Ms. Doherty shouts from her spot at the tech booth, and the group shuffles to the stage. Evan squints at the bright lights and is just able to make out Connor amidst the spotlight before he ducks behind the curtain to wait for his cue.

The scene follows exactly as they’ve rehearsed dozens of times. He hears Jeremy and Michael talking through the scene, calling Zoe behind a bush where they wait for Evan’s entrance. Evan hears his line cue, presses play on their rain sounds soundtrack, and slips into character.

Hamlet’s monologue is easy enough. He sits in the middle of the stage, picking at a pot of fake daisies Zoe got from a craft store, as he starts by whispering his lines. Luckily, the monologue is an internal conversation, so he can focus on the flowers and not on the thirty pairs of eyes staring him down. Evan gets progressively louder, rising to his feet and wandering around the stage aimlessly, choosing to never look at the audience. He realizes how much easier it is when he pretends he’s in his happy place: alone, surrounded by nature.

When Zoe joins him on stage, he grows more tense and starts to stutter over his words, choking up at certain points and even mixing up two of his lines. Still, Zoe continues on with no hesitation, and it’s almost seamless enough for no one to notice.

In the end of the scene, Evan circles around Zoe as she crumples to the ground, distraught. He has to get angrier, shouting about his mom.

Evan tries to think of his mom, and how similar she is to Hamlet’s mother. Both remarried within such a short time of their fathers’ absence, acting as if nothing is wrong. Evan can understand why Hamlet is so angry, why it’s just so easy for him to give up. He’s been betrayed. His mother chose someone else over him. He simply gets in the way.

Choking back a strangled sob, he spits out the last line and storms off the stage, waiting for the lights to dim. For a moment, there is silence. Then, applause thunders throughout the auditorium.

Evan slinks back onstage, rubbing his eyes, as Zoe picks herself off the ground and Jeremy and Michael emerge from their hiding place. A few people are even standing up, including Ms. Doherty. The four of them stand in line, feeling slightly overwhelmed as people shoot off compliments and ask excited questions about their costume choice and why they chose to perform the scene in an outdoor setting. Evan can’t remember a single word he spoke, because he’s too focused on the small smile playing on Connor’s lips as he crosses his arms, watching Evan closely.

After class, Evan goes to grab his book bag from the auditorium, when Connor approaches him from behind.

“I expected you to be bad at acting,” Connor muses jokingly as Evan tenses up, startled by his sudden presence. “That wasn’t half-bad.”

“I’m… just relieved it’s over,” Evan responds breathlessly, slinging the backpack strap over his shoulder. They walk down the steps together, following behind the rest of the students. “Thanks. For supporting me.”

“I’ve been there too,” Connor explains. “Panic attacks in the bathroom, I mean. Not on the stage, fuck no. But yeah, it sucks. And you just need somebody there. Because panic attacks are so much worse when no one’s there to pick you up after falling down.”

Evan hums in agreement. He recalls the summer before they moved, when Evan was volunteering at a summer camp in Oregon, where he fell from one of the oak trees on the far side of the lake. When he landed and broke his arm, he remembers lying there for several minutes, thinking _oh, someone will come to help._ But no one did. Funny.

“What the hell?” Connor echoes, and Evan’s face fills with color. “That’s so fucking depressing.”

“D-did I say all of that out loud?” Evan wonders, and Connor looks at him with an ounce of concern.

“You did…” He trails off. They exit the auditorium, headed the same way to the student parking lot. “You sure are stuck in your head, aren’t you?”

Evan bites back a bitter snort. _You have no idea_ _._

\- - - -

The smudges on Jared’s windows become suddenly very interesting on the quiet car ride home. Evan wishes he hadn’t thrown his backpack in the back seat, otherwise he could have used his phone to distract him from the awkward silence.

Jared slows down at a stop light, looks Evan’s way, and then faces forward again quickly. “Your performance,” He mutters under his breath. “It was good.”

Evan’s head snaps in his direction. “What? R-Really?” He asks, surprised. “Thanks.”

“I mean, it was obvious you were about to piss your pants out of nervousness,” Jared jokes quickly, earning a forced laugh from Evan. _Well,_  he thinks, _at least he was trying to be nice for once._

Another two minutes pass - Evan’s staring at the clock on the dashboard now, watching the blinking numbers tick by - when Jared speaks up again. “There’s a bonfire tonight. It’s a back to school tradition, but it got held up from all the rain. It’s down by the beach. I know you haven’t been yet, so…”

Evan is surprised he’s even offering. Normally, Jared would choose to boast about whatever party he was attending that weekend, stumble in the house at two in the morning, and Evan would pretend to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to deal with his slightly-drunk jokes, which were meaner than usual. Sometimes he extended the invitation to Evan, but he never really meant it, so Evan always said no.

And so, he’s about to decline, when Jared stops him. “Your friends will be there. Jeremy, Zoe. I don’t think it’s Michael’s scene. That other guy too… Lorenzo or something?”

Suddenly, Evan has a reason to attend. He briefly wonders if Connor will be there too, but decides not to ask, already knowing full-well Jared’s opinion of the “closeted emo”. (Also, something about a printer. Evan stopped listening once he heard “second grade” and “weed” in the same sentence.)

Before he can think twice, he finds himself nodding. “Alright. I'll go.”

“Cool. But you’ll have to change. I refuse to be seen with you if you’re going to be wearing that grandpa polo to a beach bonfire,” Jared points out, grinning. Evan sighs, relieved that Jared’s back to his normal, asshole-y self.

Weirdly enough, he’s actually starting to get used to it.


	13. thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, fuck." -Evan, after this chapter, probably

******You have one (1) new message on Stigma!**

 **@leo:** can we talk later?

Evan sees the message ten minutes after it was delivered, really, he does. But he’s just… too busy with everything else to think of a response. Yeah. It’s totally not because messages like this make him nervous, and he hates confronting things head-on. Instead of facing his fear, he silences his phone and does his homework on a Friday afternoon like the loser he is. He eats dinner with his new family, and actually enjoys the kale and portobello lasagna. He even tells his mom that he and Jared are going out with some friends, and she tells him to stay safe, knowing full-well “a few friends” means they’re headed to a party.

Admittedly, Evan feels apprehensive about the party, but how couldn’t he? He’s the _new kid_ \-- most likely, all the people there won’t recognize him, and he’ll sit on the sidelines, invisible like he always is. He tries to find comfort in the fact that Zoe and Jeremy would be there, as well as Jared and maybe even Lorenzo.

However, any worry slips away as the sandy shore comes into view. Jared speeds along the beachfront avenue, and the only thing separating them and the ocean is barbie beach houses, palm trees, and golden sand. The sight is even more beautiful as the sunset pours oranges and pinks over the world, blurring the water with iridescent colors.

Evan used to fear the sea, back when he was little and terrified of sharks and jellyfish, but now he respects it for the same reason, holding thousands of marine species and an entire world underneath the surface. He understands its beauty, but also the dangers it could create. Nothing compares to the infinitudes of the ocean.

Jared pulls into a public access point, parking in between two pickup trucks. The moment Evan gets out of the car, he nearly trips over the uneven sandy ground. Jared snorts and slams the car door, walking off with Evan trailing behind like a lost puppy.

“The bonfire is usually a little ways down from the public beach,” Jared explains as they tread through sand, passing by bikers and tanning people (which is so odd to Evan-- _who tans at eight at night?_ In Seattle, it would already be in the 50s at this time of year.).

By the time they arrive, Evan sees only about two dozen people surrounding the beach, talking in groups. Some of the girls are just wearing bikini tops with shorts, others are fully dressed. The party is on a hilly part of the beach, further up where there is grass, sand, and rocky alcoves to sit. One of the palm trees fell down, probably from a recent storm, so a few people are sitting on the tree trunk. Others were sprawled out on multi-colored blankets and towels on the sand. A giant bonfire is in the center, with loud orange flames crackling towards the darkening sky.

Evan also notices that weed and alcohol is casually passed around, but he’s not shocked. His mom warned him that weed was legalized in California, so he’d see it more than his private school in Seattle. Still, he doesn’t have much interest in getting drunk or high.

“Kleinman! You’re here!” Evan hears a deep voice shout as he observes the conglomeration of teenagers. Evan looks up to see a shirtless boy with blonde hair approach Jared, raising his hand up for a handshake. They clap each other’s backs in the way that popular guys do - Evan’s not cool enough to pull it off - and launch into some conversation about the party that Evan doesn’t listen to. Instead, he watches the Jared, noticing the way he messes with his hair, stands up straighter, doesn’t look away. _Hm._

When Evan realizes they aren’t going to stop talking any time soon, Evan walks off towards the fire. As the sun sets, the temperature drops rapidly, and he finds comfort in the warmth of the bonfire.

“Evan, hey,” Jeremy walks up to him, holding a rolled-up towel under his arm. “You made it.”

“My stepbrother invited me,” Evan cocks his head to gesture towards Jared, still locked in conversation with the blonde.

“You’re related to Jared Kleinman?” Jeremy asks in astonishment. Evan’s grimace answers his rhetorical question. “Shit, man. I’m sorry.”

“He’s alright. He’s kind of an acquired taste,” Evan jokes, sarcasm lacing his words, and Jeremy chuckles, even though Evan’s mentally beating himself for saying something so idiotic.

“I’ve known him since sixth grade. He’s a little better than he was in middle school, but not by much. Not a great actor, either,” He shakes his head, turning to Evan and pointing to his chest. “But you, you’re awesome. You got mad skills, dude.”

“Thanks, but I’m not that great, it was just for… the project,” Evan mumbles, grateful for the fire to conceal his blush, as he waves his hands out in front of him.

“No _way!_ Hey, you should sign up for the school play. I only signed up to impress this girl, but turns out she’s ace, and I love acting anyway,” Jeremy babbles on, which is amusing for Evan to watch. “The play is student-directed by her, actually. It’s super chill.”

Evan thinks its a horrible idea, because acting means a, social interaction, and b, speaking in front of a large crowd, which are Evan’s two worst fears, but part of him is inclined to say yes.

He remembers Connor’s words of encouragement in the bathroom: _You go out there and do it for yourself._ In all honesty, the _rush_ he got after finishing his lines, hearing the applause - for _him!_ \- made him feel like people finally saw him. It was mind-numbing. Exhilarating. _Addicting._

And that, in of itself, was enough to say yes.

“Yes!” Jeremy pumps the air with his fist. “Michael never wants to do this kind of stuff with me.”

“Where _is_ Michael, anyway?”

“Off getting some weed from his older brother,” Jeremy shrugs. “You want some?”

Evan doesn’t know how to respond, his mouth agape and words suspended in his throat. Jeremy inhales, sensing his nervousness. “I won’t pressure you, but the offer’s open.” Looking over his shoulder, recognition flashes in his eyes, and he raises his arm in a wave. “Hey! Michael, over here!” He looks back down to Evan. “Let’s go.”

Evan looks back, seeing that Jared has disappeared. Considering Jeremy and Michael are the only people he feels comfortable talking to here, he follows.

Michael has laid out a plaid picnic blanket in the sand nearby the grass, on the edge of the party. His legs are stretched out, one arm propping him up, as he raises a blunt to his lips. When Jeremy sits down and leans over, Michael automatically shotguns smoke into his mouth. Evan doesn’t know what to say about their unspoken routine and so he shuts up, sitting down and curling his knees to his chest.

His two friends pass their blunt around, chatting about some zombie video game. Evan’s actually heard of it and throws in a comment or two, grateful for his hours of binge-watching YouTube videos for the knowledge. Evan learns more about the two: they’ve been friends since third grade, when the class bully broke Michael’s glasses and Jeremy punched them in the face. They do practically everything together, from video game marathons to homework to junior prom. Michael tried to show a picture of Jeremy’s “god-awful blue suit”, but Jeremy climbed over him and took the phone away before he could pull up his Instagram.

Evan evan takes a hit. Or two, or three. He doesn’t remember. He coughs on his first try, of course, his sinuses burning. It’s not the worst thing ever, better than alcohol for sure. Within a few minutes of settling in, the colors of the world are a little brighter, the sounds are a little louder, and he finds everything a little funnier.

At one point, some guy picks up his girlfriend and carries her to the water. She’s squealing and kicking until he tosses her in, with her emerging from the waves laughing and soaked, knocking a wave of water his way. Everyone then follows suit, laughing and jumping into the water. A beach ball is tossed around, some engage in an all-out splashing war, and one guy even attempts to ride on the waves with his stomach. Jeremy drags Michael and Evan towards the water and they splash around too, laughing. Michael picks up Jeremy and threatens to toss him in, eliciting some _very_ girlish screams, to the tune of “No, _no_ , nonononoNO-- _Michael!_ I’m gonna freaking _kill_ you!” until Michael loses his balance and they both fall into the water together. They shout for Evan to come in and he rolls up his pant legs, rushing in after them.

The rest of the party was about what Evan expected: drinking, dancing, laughing. With his new friends (?) by his side, he didn’t even mind all the social interaction. A couple people got into a drunken fight, and others just ended up passing out on their picnic blankets as the night went on. At around midnight, someone started shooting off fireworks off the shore, filling the sky with kaleidoscopic explosions: pink, green, than orange.

Michael and Jeremy eventually fall asleep on their picnic blanket, curled up against each other, much like most of the partygoers. Only a few people are awake besides him now, the only constant sound being the rushing waves.

He’s sitting on one of the rocky ledges, having long given up trying on finding Jared. Neck crooned towards the sky, he admires an explosion of blue. Admittedly, he’s shivering, wishing he’d brought a towel - Jared reminded him to bring one but he didn’t listen - when he hears a familiar accent.

“Need this?”

Lorenzo is behind him, offering him a towel. Evan takes it graciously, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Fair warning, I think I may be slightly high,” He admits amidst his cloud-minded stupor. Though, he probably wasn’t; it’d been hours since they’d smoked. He was probably high off of his nervousness. “Did you just get here?”

Lorenzo laughs in the sunny way he always does and takes a seat next to Evan on the ledge. “No, I’ve been looking for you,” He says softly, looking away in slight embarrassment. “I don’t really know how these American parties work.”

“Neither do I,” Evan shrugs. “I was never cool enough at my old school to go to one. At least I went to one before I graduate for college.”

“Any plans for the future?” Lorenzo asks, scooting closer. His voice is lowered, as if not to disturb the sleeping people around them.

Evan pauses, staring off into the ocean, watching how the moon’s reflection shimmers over the waves. “I want to be an environmental journalist. Run my own magazine,” He admits suddenly, never having said it out loud before, let alone convinced himself. But he knew it was perfect for him; he always enjoyed writing, and knew he wanted to work with nature.

“You think big.”

“Yeah! Why not do something amazing?” Evan asks louder, more excited. He turns to Lorenzo, who’s watching him intensely. “Everyone here just wants to go waste time in LA. Nobody wants to try anything new.”

Lorenzo nods, a blank stare on his face.

“What?”

Before he can process what’s happening, Lorenzo’s leaned in to kiss him, and he’s kissing back before he can even think about _who’s watching, what does this mean, what’s next_ . For once of his life, he’s _not_ thinking. And God, does it feel good. The world goes quiet, and Evan blindly maps the edges of Lorenzo’s lips, as if it will answer all the unspoken questions he has.

 _I don’t even care if he’s Leo or not,_ Evan thinks as he feels Lorenzo’s hand slide through his hair, _It doesn’t get any better than this._

\- - - -

Evan stumbles into his bedroom around two in the morning, having just dragged a half-asleep Jared up the stairs and hauling him into bed. Jared had just curled up on his side, so Evan yanked off his shoes and tossed a blanket over him, slipping out of his bedroom as quietly as possible.

Thankfully, his parents hadn’t heard them come home so late - it was one of those rare nights where Peter was in bed before midnight - and when his head hit his pillow, he realizes just how exhausted he truly is. Sober, now. Just exhausted. (And lovesick.)

He’s about to click on YouTube to catch up on his subscriptions when he remembers: _Leo._

Sure enough, he’d ignored Leo’s message on Stigma all night. It was a long shot, but he responded anyway, feeling guilty enough he forgot to be worried.

 **@carter:** Well, that’s certainly ominous.

Leo doesn’t reply for a few minutes, and Evan is almost asleep when his phone vibrates, and when he does, Evan cans sense the edge in his voice.

 **@leo:** i just wanted to ask you something.

Like clockwork, anxiety storms in without knocking, and Evan’s stomach twists on itself.

 **@carter:** Okay...

 **@leo:** how’d you break your arm?

Huh. Well, that was certainly an odd question for two in the morning. _Too_ odd, in fact. It only makes Evan more panicky. Especially because he’s already told Leo before, months ago, when it happened.

 **@carter:** I fell out of a tree. You know this.

 **@leo:** but how did it happen?

 **@carter:** It was in a forest, at summer camp. I wasn’t supposed to be out of the bunks. 

Leo knows he hates talking about this, and yet he doesn't seem to care. So why now? What's different?

 **@leo:** what about after?

 **@carter:** Why are you asking me all this all of a sudden?

 **@leo:** because i’m not sure what you tell me is truth and what isn’t anymore.

Evan feels his heart turn into knots. His fingers shaking, he physically forces himself to reply instead of shutting off his phone and hiding under his covers.

 **@carter:** When have I ever lied to you?

 **@leo:** when you didn’t tell me where you moved.

 **@carter:** I said I was moving south, because my mom got engaged. I didn’t realize you needed all the specifics.

 **@leo:** do you even trust me?

Evan’s reply is automatic.

 **@carter:** Of course.

So is Leo’s.

 **@leo:** there’s another lie.

He watches, eyes darting around the screen frantically as Leo types something, erases something, and finally:

 **@leo:** quit lying to me, evan.

And then, Evan’s heart stops completely. There’s no mistaking it; Leo’s figured him out. He must’ve done something, something to reveal his true identity. Maybe Leo just put it together, from what he knows of Evan already. Maybe Leo’s known the entire time, and is only choosing something to say something now. Is it Lorenzo? Is he mad I haven’t said anything? Evan wonders, slipping into a state of panic.

He has one last shot to save himself.

 **@carter:** I think you have the wrong person.

Leo doesn't believe it for a second, but Evan wasn't exactly hopeful he would, anyway. It only seems to make him angrier.

 **@leo** : it’s not that hard to piece together the details, you know. the shy new kid with the asshole stepbrother, the one who talked so much shit about social anxiety and the struggle to make friends and yet you’re popular within a few weeks.

 **@leo:**  thought we understood each other.

 **@leo** : but you're such a fucking hypocrite. just like everyone else.

Evan bites his lip, holding back tears. Tears blur his vision as he types out his desperate reply.

 **@carter:** Why are you doing this?

 **@leo:** i know you don’t need me anymore. not like i need you, anyways.

 **@leo:** but you have no idea who i really am, do you?

Evan pauses. No, he doesn’t. He has hopes on who he could be, fears on who he could be. But in reality, Leo could be anyone. And that thought is terrifying. 

He realizes he's lost his only chance to ever find him, to do things _right_. So he says the only thing that could possibly make it better.

 **@carter:** I’m sorry.

But of course, it doesn’t.

 **@leo:** fuck you.

Evan tries to type out a reply, justifying himself by any means how, but before he can press send, a notification appears at the bottom of the screen.

_You are no longer able to send messages to @leo._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter is a bit short!! i've been hit with writers block again so that's fun :/ it's just been a looooong week my dudes.
> 
> life update:  
> \- i started my job and it is WONDERFUL. all my coworkers are sosososo awesome and i get free bubble tea and smoothies :D  
> \- i got my prom dress! suuuuper excited hehe  
> \- i'm almost at 500 followers on my art instagram which is??? Wild ™ (go follow!! @hanimehime)  
> \- yeah thats it, my life is boring. lol.
> 
> thank you ALL for your continued support, even though i'm so bad with plot structure and character development. your kudos and comments mean the world to meeeee :D


	14. fourteen

It’s over a month later, and things are… good.

Yeah. Great, actually.

It’s odd, really; Evan always finds himself distrustful of positivity in his life-- usually there’s _something_ , looming, threatening to break him down at any moment.

A few days after his kiss with Lorenzo on the beach, the two started dating, and they’ve been going steady for about a month now. He’s sort of integrated him into his friend group of Jeremy, Michael, Alana, and Zoe. Between the five of them, Evan has a friend in nearly every class.

Work is alright too; since the weather got cooler, the Hot Box is more bearable with Alana, and sometimes he sneaks away from his sift to see where Connor is.

Connor is… unpredictable. One day he’s smiling through a presentation about meteors, other days he’s skipping his shift to smoke in the back alley (Evan found him once when he was taking out the trash. Connor ignored him until he disappeared back into the building.)

Even play auditions happened. Evan got nervous - of course - but the student director, Christine, liked him anyway, and he was cast as one of the side roles. He only had about half a dozen speaking lines, but he was also featured in one of the songs. Play practice after school was nice; he actually felt like he was being productive with his life. Michael always gave him rides home, since he waited for Jeremy, in his beat-up PT Cruiser. (Michael said it made him look like a loser, but Evan thought it was awesome).

Life was going so good, actually, Evan started looking at college applications. His mother warned him to start early, over the summer break, but he’d been putting it off out of fear. He had repeatedly convinced himself that it wasn’t worth it. However, Zoe (amidst her rant about her eleven college essays she has to write) convinced him to try, even offering to help him edit his essays.

He wasn’t planning on going anywhere special, just a few places in state, a college back in Washington, and Berkeley, at his mom’s insistence. At the bottom of his list was New York University, which had an amazing journalism program, but he didn’t have the heart to think he could get in.

Still, life somehow wrapped itself up in a neat little bow and became wonderful, blissful routine.

It was exactly what Evan liked.

No surprises.

Which is why it scared him so much to hear desperate arguing behind closed doors one night. Evan thought his mom and Peter had gone to bed early, but hushed whispers turned to shouts, and Evan couldn’t help but take out his earbuds and creep closer down the hall for a better range of hearing.

Eavesdropping is bad. He knows that. But his mom and Peter are weirdly… perfect. He wonders how much he doesn’t know about what their relationship is really like.

“...could’ve joined us,” He catches the last of his mom’s words. She sounds angry and exhausted, having just gotten back from her night shift at the hospital.

“How was I supposed to know the conference was tonight?” Peter argues back, louder, even more tired.

“You could’ve at least double-checked… tonight was our one night to have dinner as a family, I even rescheduled work,” Heidi argues.

Evan sighs. He knows exactly what they’re fighting about: dinner. Throughout the week, both Peter and Heidi were at work, and Evan didn’t get home until past dinner time, so they hadn’t had a time to sit down for a family dinner. Heidi had planned something special for the weekend, but after cooking her famous eggplant parmesan, Peter locked himself in his office for a “can’t-miss conference”, and the other three ate alone, picking at pasta and going through the motions of awkward small-talk.

“Are you saying that I intentionally tried to sabotage your dinner?” Peter demands, and he can practically hear the flinch in Heidi’s voice.

“Of course not! I just wish…” She trails off, her voice almost cracking.

Then, nothing. The silence is unbearable to Evan, only broken when Peter echoed “You just wish what?”

“I don’t know,” She says eventually. “That you would put more effort in trying to get to know Evan. I want you to be a good father to him. He’s lonely. He needs a father.”

“What about you, then? You and Jared haven’t exactly had many bonding moments either.”

Peter’s deflecting now, and it’s almost like he’s looking for a fight at this point. For a moment, Evan thinks it would be preferable to hear them having sex; this seems much more intimate, more raw. Even worse than walking in on their midnight tears. Evan hates witnessing things like this-- it reminds him that things are real. And massively screwed up.

Suddenly, he wonders if this is what happens when people meet over the internet. A connection without context; pictures and words sliding across a screen. Evan imagines their first impressions were carefully manipulated, crafted to make them seem better than they really are. It’s weird thinking Peter would turn to the internet to help with her grief. He seems so put together, in control. Like he has everything he needs.

Even though Evan’s not the biggest fan of this sudden dad-replacement, he can see why his mom likes him so much. He does very well for himself in a life, working for a good cause as well, as well as being reasonably attractive. But why did he choose his mom? Evan loves her and all, but she’d been struggling ever since Dad left, trying to balance her jobs and pay for the mortgage. They’d moved into an apartment and shoved most of their possessions in storage in order to stay on top of the bills. But Evan’s sure there are many more attractive, hopeful young women Peter could’ve selected from coming to California. So why _her_ ? Why _his_ mom?

Back when his parents used to fight, he would shut the door and put on his headphones, listening to the loudest music he can find. He’d refused to listen, knowing the fight would last for days, and the two of them would use him to pass along messages-- one of the downsides of being an only child. _Evan, tell your father he needs to pick you up from school tomorrow. Evan, tell your mom that I have business in the city tonight._ It wasn’t often, but when it was, it was hell.

Now, he’s slipping out of his room, knowing the walls are too thin to block out the words. He’s about to head down the stairs when he sees Jared lingering in his doorway, eyes focused in the direction of the master bedroom door.

“Let me make something clear here,” His mom’s voice is low and dangerous. She’s calm, almost too calm, which Evan knows means she’s really angry. “I’m doing my best to bring this new family together. If you aren’t going to do the same, then I might as well leave.”

“Heidi!”

“Forget it. I’m going to the store. I need air and to get away from you,” She grumbles, voice drawing nearer, and Evan and Jared scramble quickly into his room, quietly shutting the door behind them.

“Good! Go!” Peter screams after her. “And don’t come back!”

\- - - -

Evan’s never been in Jared’s room since he’s moved here, and it’s not exactly what he’s expected. From the times the door’s been open, Evan’s seen superhero posters and navy blue walls, but overall, the room was pretty minimalist: a single picture frame on his desk, solid-colored bedding, a lamp on the bedside table. However, he was much messier than his dad; dirty clothes are strewn about, homework is tossed on the desk, and his closet is a disaster.

Jared sits down on his unmade bed. He pulls out a plastic bag from his bedside table, and Evan recognizes it as dope. (Mainly because Jared wouldn’t have a spice collection in his bedside drawer.) “You think they’re gonna split up?”

Evan’s surprised how his heart drops at the thought. He’s only just moved here, and he’s already starting to find his niche-- granted, it’s just a few awkward friends and a boyfriend way out of his league, but he actually likes living here, but only because he’s starting to realize there’s nothing to go back to. Seattle lives on, but the apartment is sold, and his mom wouldn’t be able to afford sending him back to private school on her own. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s grown a dependence on Peter.

He doesn’t want to say goodbye to his silly crush on Lorenzo, the friendships he’s made, his actually-cool job.

So yeah. He wants to stay.

If Peter doesn’t want her to come back, does that mean he has to leave too? Should he start packing his bags?

“I don’t know,” Evan says instead.

“Sure would make things easier,” Jared jokes, lighting his joint. “You want some?”

Evan shakes his head, nose wrinkled. “Easier for you, maybe, but I have nowhere to go,” he leans against the door, crossing his arms.

“Not my problem,” Jared huffs, flopping down on his back.

“You’re right,” Evan nods. “It isn’t.” He makes his move to leave, but Jared sits up again, looking concerned.

“Sorry. You know I didn’t mean that,” Actually, Evan _didn’t_ know that, but he doesn’t say anything. “Look, it’ll be alright. They’ll realize that they’re on the same page here.”

“Which is…?”

“That they both want to be good parents. Together. Because they both want what’s best for us,” Jared says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And that they want to make this work.”

Evan hums, not entirely convinced. He supposes all good couples do fight every once in a while. They’re mature. It’s just a dinner. It’ll be forgotten soon enough.

Evan realizes that underneath the layer of sarcasm, Jared is actually authentic in his own weird way. Which makes him wonder if he could possibly be Leo. Maybe he mistook Leo’s flirtiness for enthusiasm to help him through his weird family transition. He pushes the thought out immediately. _No_. That’s impossible. Jared hates science, anyway.

“And hey, if it doesn’t, hopefully your mom signed a prenup,” Jared jokes, and Evan hates him all over again. He laughs, and Evan sits down on the bed next to him. “Kidding, kidding! Come on, if you don’t want to smoke up, let’s stress eat. I have a chocolate stash around here somewhere…”

\- - - -

Much later, Evan finds himself tossing and turning in bed. He regrets eating all that chocolate, having triggered both his lactose-intolerance and his stomach’s distaste for excess sugar.

At least, that’s what he chooses to believe is keeping him up. He’s tried to forcibly dispel the paranoid thoughts of his mother and his well-being; after she returned from the store an hour later, she went back into the bedroom, and the room was silent for the rest of the night.

Evan squints at the light on his phone. _3:36 am,_ it reads, and he sighs, dropping it on the pillow. Another night of no sleep, filled with useless YouTube and Netflix videos. Not even his usual _Dad_ music playlist is getting him to sleep.

Another dry sigh passes his lips as he tosses back the covers, slipping on a pair of shoes. He elects that some fresh air will do him good-- the late night California summers had perfectly breezy weather.

He slips out of his window and scales the tree down to the first floor, stumbling as he drops down but catching himself.

Evan decides he’ll just walk around the neighborhood and explore it a bit better, so he heads towards the front yard and walks down the sidewalk, basking in the silence.

The road before him stretched like a tarmac ribbon, albeit, one that had worn down over time. He watched the freshly-painted white line, unbroken compared to sun-bleached and potholed concrete. In the pre-dawn darkness, the street he takes to school is so different; the lack of illumination from the street lamps made his shadow dance around him.

It winds into a fork, and Evan chooses the left path, passing a bent sign that read Lakeshore Lane. Shoving his hands into his sweatpant pockets, he marches over hills and passes modern houses. He realizes the entire street is a loop, and cuts through a forest path to get back to where he started from.

The sound of soft rushing water catches his ear, and he notices the path diverges. Following the water, he approaches the clearing, spotting an old bridge, a rushing river twenty feet below.

And on top of the railing, a shadowy figure.

“Don’t jump!” Evan shouts before he realizes what he’s saying. The figure turns towards his voice, moonlight catching his profile. Evan sees the surprised expression of Connor Murphy, quickly shifting to a scowl. Upon seeing Evan, he looks angry. And below it, hurt. Evan covers his mouth quickly, shocked by his outburst.

“What the hell are you doing in the forest at four in the morning?” Connor demands, shouting over the roar of the river.

Evan stomps closer. “I.. could ask you the same,” He tries to sound confident, but it just comes out as a weak comeback. He hugs his arms around his torso tightly, as if protecting. Quietly, he asks, “What are you doing? Were you about to…”

Even in the dim moonlight, Evan can see Connor roll his eyes. “No, Hansen,” He says with a small laugh-- and not the good kind. “Trust me. This drop won’t kill you.”

Nodding, Evan rocks back on his heels awkwardly. “Then why…”

“Because it’s nice,” Connor explains a little too harshly, making Evan flinch. “And because I don’t really want to go home.”

“Me neither,” Evan admits.

“Still not running away?” Connor tries to joke, and Evan laughs weakly. Connor pats the railing, a silent invitation for him to sit, but Evan just watches it, confused. “It’s safe, I promise.”

Unable to say no, Evan steps closer and hops up onto the ledge, tossing his legs around to the other side. He folds his hands tightly in his lap, staring down at the current. Water rushes over rocks and carries everything with it. Evan wishes that he could drop down and let the current wash him away, too.

“So, what’s your deal? Boyfriend problems?” Connor guesses.

“Not exactly,” Evan mumbles, failing to meet his eye. “Family stuff. There was a fight.”

Connor exhales loudly, looking up at the sky. “Tell me about it,” He scoffs. “My parents fight every night. I’m not sure why they even stay together. To keep things ‘normal’, I guess.”

“What do they fight about?” Evan asks.

Connor doesn’t move. A beat. Two. “Me,” He says eventually. “My dad is always pushing me, pushing for better grades, joining a sport, stop skipping class and getting high. But any time I try, even once, he thinks its not good enough. It doesn't help that my sister is the perfect student and ‘prodigy musician’, or whatever. And then there’s my mom, who sees that I just need help, medication or therapy or something, but my dad says a shrink won’t fix me, I’m just lazy and selfish. Yep. That’s a common word to describe me lately.”

Evan doesn’t know what to say, and his shoulders slump. “That sucks,” He finally declares. And then: “Your dad sounds like a dick.”

A snort. “You’re right,” Connor agrees, shaking his head. “It does fucking suck. I mean, all I want is for us to have a better relationship, but it just seems like he gave up on m--” He quickly cuts himself off, scowling, as if he remembered something. “Why am I telling you this? You don’t give a shit.”

“I don’t mind listening,” Evan shrugs. “I mean, I can’t do much… but I can listen.”

“Seems like no one cares about doing that these days, either,” Connor smirks. “Everyone’s head is so far up their own asses. And yet _I’m_ the selfish one,” He scoffs. “Ha. Now I wish this drop was high enough.”

Connor’s rising to his feet now, and furthermore, he’s grabbed Evan’s wrist, pulling him up with him. “C-Connor, what are you doing, oh my _God_ \-- p-please can we get down from here, the railing is slick and we could fall-- Connor, _please_ \--” Evan chokes out, but it’s like Connor can’t hear him. He’s in his own world a faraway smile on his lips. He takes off his jacket, kicks off his boots, yanks his hair into a messy bun, and hops off the ledge, shouting “Bombs away!”

Connor's joyful laugh a million miles away, Evan screams the entire way down, hurtling towards the water. It’s like a shock, thousands of needles poking his skin at once, and for a moment, the world goes quiet. He kicks to the surface, gasping. He sloshes around the river, waiting an endless ten seconds before Connor resurfaces, grinning triumphantly, brushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “Come on, Hansen. We lived, see?”

“Y-Y-You’re insane,” Evan accuses, teeth chattering. “We c-could’ve d-died.”

“It was hardly twenty feet,” Connor starts wading towards the shore. “Live a little, Hansen.”

By the time they’ve pulled themselves out of the water, climbed back up the forest to the bridge, and retrieved their belongings, Evan’s gone from soaking wet to only slightly dripping. Luckily, his flip-flops are waterproof, but they squeak as he and Connor make their way back.

“I haven’t really,” Evan mumbles suddenly as they walk through the path.

“What?”

“Lived, I mean. Like you said. I’m too secluded.”

“So what?” Connor shrugs one shoulder. “Big deal. Not like it’ll make a difference in the long run, anyways.”

“It does,” Evan argues slowly, “Maybe. I mean, I’m not good with academics, sports, never had many friends. So, just… there’s a lot I don’t know.”

“Like…”

“Like how to jump into a river just for fun.”

“Well, nearly giving yourself hypothermia is sure to get your ass kicked either way,” Connor shoves his red hands into his jacket pockets to warm them up. “You learned one lesson tonight.”

“Hey!” Evan shouts. “You’re the one who pulled me in!”

“Irrelevant.”

“Relevant!” Evan frowns.

Connor smirks, and Evan watches him, wondering, not for the first time that night, how odd it was for the two of them to be together at this very moment. And yet, maybe it isn’t. That was one of the best things about the night; stuff what would be weird in the middle of the daytime just… wasn’t, at this hour. It was like the dark masked all the obstacles, somehow.

And yet, even if he accomplished one thing, what about everything else?

“I just wonder if its too late. All the things I should’ve been doing the last seventeen years. Going to parties, breaking curfew on a Friday night, just-- normal things.”

“It’s not too late,” Connor says quietly after a moment. “You can still get those things.”

“How? We graduate soon, and neither of us are exactly popular enough to go to parties,” Evan points out dejectedly.

“Screw the others. Parties suck, anyway. We don’t need anyone else. I can help you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” Connor decides. “You get your magical adventure, I get an excuse to leave the house. Deal?”

A moment of hesitation worms its way through Evan’s throat, and his words come out choked. “Deal,” He agrees.

“Also, you’ve already checked off one thing off your list,” Connor points out. “Considering it’s after four and you’re wandering the streets. It counts. I think.”

Connor’s walked him all the way home and now they’re standing by Evan’s house, in the shadows. _Close enough,_ Evan thinks.

“Same time next week,” Connor says, although it’s more of a direction instead of a mutual decision. Same time, meaning four in the morning. Wonderful. “You, me, and the uncovered side of Elmwood.”

Evan nods, having spoken much more than he would’ve liked that night. His quiet walk turned into something completely different altogether, and he isn’t sure if it’s for the better or not.

Before walking off, Connor takes off his jacket and puts it around Evan’s still-damp shoulders. He’s shocked into silence at the gesture, pulling it tighter around him. Evan now becomes acutely aware of the fact his teeth are still chattering, and that even though his entire body is wracked with a chill, his face feels like its burning.

“And next time, Hansen,” He says as he walks off, starting to cut through the woods, “Remember a jacket.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is ridiculous!! hope you have fun! don't forget to comment and leave kudos :)


	15. fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on spring break, so you know what that means!! lots of updates!! (and sleeping lmao.) 
> 
> as i start to hear back from the rest of my colleges i am Stressed ™ to choose which one to commit to and accept that I'm graduating in less than 3 months ajdhjdnakd
> 
> perhaps you'll recognize what inspired some of the events in this chapter!! its kind of based on "keith", an independent film on netflix y'all should watch!! sooooo good. you will cry.

Evan is starting to notice things about Connor.

How he ties his hair up during psychology tests, the tree where he eats under during lunch, and his bad habit of showing up to class with red-rimmed eyes.

He also notices the way his voice changes depending on who he talks to. Around the kids at the science museum, he’s overly-peppy, sickly sweet, all wide eyes and fake smiles. Towards the teachers he is short and sharp, never giving more than he has to. And around Evan… well, he’s just Connor. Whoever that is. Witty and sarcastic, but also thoughtful.

But also insane.

Evan slings his backpack over his shoulder after AP Psychology, placing his quiz in the inbox on the teacher’s desk and heading out the door. He’s about to head to forth, when he hears Connor call out his name.

“You and me, seventh period. Bowling,” He says before walking away.

“...I have a boyfriend,” Evan responds, confused. “And English class.”

Connor turns around to retort “It’s not a date!”, walking backwards, before turning the corner and disappearing.

Evan frowns, dumbfounded, before shaking his head and heading off in the opposite direction, wondering how they became closer, all of a sudden.

It started with their walk through the neighborhood, and their jump into the river, as well as their jump into an unconventional friendship. Every weekend, they’d meet up at the same time, same place - four o’clock under the streetlight - and explore some part of Elmwood Evan didn’t know about. It became an unspoken agreement that Connor would show him someplace new.

First was the abandoned apple orchard, which was all barbed wire fence and rotting apple cores, with a large billboard saying _Coming Soon: Luxury Apartments!_ After having a tree-climbing contest (with Evan being the obvious winner, of course), they ended up having an impromptu picnic (Even though Evan was insistent picnics only happen during the day), laying out their jackets and munching on Tic Tacs, apples, and a half-eaten pack of peanut butter crackers. Connor had even told him that he went to the orchard with his family when he was younger, breezy Saturday afternoons where they’d go apple picking and his mom would make pies that night. He spoke about it with a hazy sadness in his eyes, like his childhood happiness died right along with the apple trees.

Then came the twenty-four hour Waffle House, which Evan had never been to. Connor had practically dragged his ass inside, plopping him down onto one of the bright-red booths. The seats were squeaky and the tables were slightly sticky, but the waffle had been one of the best he’s had in a while, and he got so hopped up on maple syrup he had stayed up the rest of the night before crashing at sunrise, only to wake up at three in the afternoon.

And now, Evan guessed, a bowling alley. Though, it was a Friday, and in the morning. Two things that promptly broke their new tradition.

Plus, Connor didn’t exactly talk to him outside of school. Since their first night together, they fell into routine; a constant back-and-forth, sometimes serious, more often not, stretched out across the hours between when his mom falls asleep and the sunrise. Evan figured if he spent the same amount of time with Connor during the day, he would get to know him, just...  not like this. The night changes everything. The things they said, the places they went, it all meant something different in the dark. 

Evan figured they’d at least talk in psychology, but he got too focused on Lorenzo, the two whispering during work time and texting during lectures, while Connor keeps quiet the entire class period. If Evan didn’t know any better, he’d say Connor was jealous.

Well, whatever.

Like Connor said, it isn’t a date. Nothing to worry about.

\- - - -

During lunch, Evan heads to his most-frequented spot: the roof.

He finds his usual nook, a worn-out sledge of concrete. He kicks his feet up on the railing, leaning against the brick, and takes out his phone, tapping on a familiar app.

_You are no longer able to send messages to @leo._

Evan has probably read those ten words a few hundred times now; sometimes, he clicks on the app reflexively, expecting to hear a story or space fact from Leo. Other times just to see if Leo unblocked him. (He hasn’t.) And on the rare occasion where he misses him the most, Evan thinks of a way he’d apologize if he could.

After a moment of mulling over his words, he logs out of his account and creates another. But this time, he makes one small change.

 **@evan:** Look, I know you hate me right now. I would too. But you were wrong before. I do need you. Please.

 **@evan:** At least let me try to apologize. 

And then:

 **@evan:** I don’t want to lose you either.

He stares at his phone for the rest of the lunch period, waiting for the message to be read, but it never is. So when the bell rings, he sighs and gives up, wondering if he should just try to forget about it altogether.

\- - - -

Evan isn’t sure if it’s pride or fear that’s twisting in his stomach when he walks out of the building after sixth hour; he assumes its the latter, having never skipped a class in all twelve years of high school. To prove it, his perfect attendance trophies from elementary school still sit somewhere in an unpacked box. Luckily, he knows where Connor’s parking spot is, since he walks with Zoe after English to the student parking lot.

Evan slides in the passenger seat like clockwork, tossing his bag at his feet. The car smells like coffee and marijuana, bitter and sweet, wrapping around his mind. Connor’s staring at his phone, frowning.

“What?” Evan demands curiously.

Connor looks up, alarmed at his presence. “Jesus fuck, you scared me--” He shakes his head. “Nothing. Buckle up.”

Evan notices Connor doesn’t buckle himself up, an unsafe habit, but bites his tongue, afraid to criticize him. Still, he can’t help but notice Connor’s other terrible habits, like speeding ten over the limit and forgetting his blinker. All while tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and humming to the low-volume radio.

They’re driving on one of the busy downtown roads before Connor swerves left into a side parking lot, parking diagonal next to the sidewalk. Evan spots a sign nailed to the concrete wall: _Salvation Army: 15 minute parking._

“A thrift store?” Evan asks as they get out of the car. “I thought you said we were going bowling.”

“This is just part one,” Connor shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, headed inside with Evan at his heels.

The fluorescent lights hurt his eyes as they enter the thrift store. Evan recognizes old 80s music, some of his dad’s favorites, playing softly on the speakers. The lady at the front desk is practically asleep, resting her head on her arms.

Connor cuts through racks of clothing, heading to the back. When Evan finds him, he’s kneeling over something, looking around until he finds what he’s looking for: a bowling bag.

“You do know there are actually balls at the bowling alley, right?” Evan informs him, knowing he sounds like a whining idiot, which is probably why Connor ignores him.

Yanking them open, Evan sees there are two balls inside, one lime green, the other swirled with purple hypnotic colors. “Ooh, Mike. Perfect,” He rolls it in his palm, reading the engraving. “We’ll get these.”

They end up going to two more thrift stores around town, getting a total of six bowling balls for whatever Connor’s planning. Evan had asked him, “Don’t we only need two?”

“That’s if we were just bowling,” He was grinning, in a broken sort of way that was reserved for him, and lugged the final bowling balls to the front desk. The worker doesnt even question the oddity of the scene and rings them up. They’d spent almost eight dollars on these; Evan hoped it would be worth it.

Back in the car, Connor tosses the bags in the backseat. The sun was starting to set, painting orange over the horizon, and Evan stares out the window, unsure of what to say. He expects to head to the bowling alley next, so he’s surprised when his street comes into view.

“Wha--”

Connor answers the question before it passes his lips. “Part two is tonight.”

“Lorenzo is coming over tonight,” Evan explains softly. “Sorry.”

“He’s going to stay the night?” Connor raises an eyebrow suspiciously, and Evan feels his face flush under the intense look.

“That’s… not your concern,” Evan mumbles.

Connor blows an exasperated breath through the hair over his eyes. “Fine. Our usual time. Think you can get rid of him by four?”

He doesn’t get to answer, because as they approach the house, Evan spots a familiar car and his blood runs cold. Immediately, he ducks down, pressing his cheek to the upholstery. “Keep going,” he hisses. “Around the corner.”

“He’s prompt!” Connor laughs sarcastically. “I like that in a man. Show up on time and leave them wanting more, baby.”

“Shut up,” Evan whacks his leg. “Just drive.”

Connor pulls further down the street, the car jolting to a stop just by their usual streetlight. Evan pulls the rearview mirror towards himself, running a hand through his hair, wishing he had lip balm. He feels Connor’s eyes on him, studying his profile with a mix of awe and amusement. “Sneak through the back to meet your boyfriend. Sexy,” He comments, and Evan frowns. “Kidding. See you at four.”

Evan gives him one last look before getting out of the car. “If only you meant in the afternoon.”

“Wouldn’t be as fun if I did.”

\- - - -

Hours later, Evan and Lorenzo are all tangled legs and bruised lips. With the bedroom door locked, every pretense falls. His laptop plays distant music, shoes are discarded without an afterthought, and Evan’s not even thinking about how his t-shirt is riding up and exposing skin he doesn’t like to show, because Lorenzo’s hands are distracting him from any worries he might have.

Lorenzo’s kisses are simultaneously soft and hard. There is a faint taste of coffee and mint, connecting and twisting and wrapping him up. He feels hot breath on his neck, followed by the tender brush of lips, and then more forceful, ravenous bruning as they make contact with raw skin. Evan can’t suppress the hushed moan that spills from his lips. “Leo…”

As his hands move lower, Evan doesn’t even care. He feels electricity underneath his fingertips, moving across Lorenzo’s back, hormones shutting down his brain and sense of higher self. Every touch is intoxicating, better than any drug… now Evan understands why boys are such whores.

“Have you ever done this before?” Lorenzo asks Evan’s bruised skin.

“Kissing?” Evan responds sharply, and Lorenzo looks up at him with doe brown eyes, silently alluding to what he really means. “Oh. Um. Is that going to be a problem for you?”

Lorenzo pulls himself up higher, holding himself up until he’s looking down on Evan seriously. “I just… don’t think this is going to work out, Evan.”

Evan bites his lip, studying his face for a moment. He’s crestfallen, about to push him away when he sees a smile quivering on his lips, and he whacks his stomach teasingly. “You’re an idiot!” He shouts, laughing.

Lorenzo falls to his side, finding his hand and squeezing it. “I’m joking, _amore_ ,” He says softly. “There’s no rush.”

“I know. Trust me, I want to,” Evan pulls his hand to his lips, whispering slowly against the tanned skin. “Just not when my family is just down the hall.”

“Afraid you’ll be too loud?” Lorenzo jokes, and Evan rolls his eyes playfully, turning the other way. Lorenzo drapes an arm over his shoulder and pulls him back so their eyes meet. “I’m glad you want to wait. You don’t see that in a guy much.”

“Thanks, Leo.” Evan smiles, pulling him in for a kiss. It’s softer, like caramel, sticky and sweet. Lorenzo places a soft kiss on his forehead and pulls him closer and Evan tucks his head in the nook between his neck and shoulder, right where it belongs.

Yeah. Everything is great.

Too great, really.

It’s perfect, and Evan’s never gotten perfect. So naturally, he waits for everything to unravel.


	16. sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4 am isn't just a time. It's a state of mind.

Sneaking out of his bedroom window is becoming something of habit to Evan, who scales down the tree like clockwork, grateful for Connor’s jacket to protect him from scratches. When his feet hit soft grass, he once again reprimands himself for forgetting to change out of his pajamas.

Well, it’ll have to do. Not like there’s anyone to impress at four in the morning, anyway.

Evan walks to the streetlight a few moments after Connor's car barrels down the street recklessly, the windows already rolled down. Evan can hear Fall Out Boy playing softly before he even gets in the car.

“Good morning," Connor offers him a tight-lipped smile, as if Evan didn't notice him driving 50 in a residential area. Evan crosses his arms over himself reflexively, studying his face. Dark circles, red-rimmed eyes.

“Are you high?” Evan demands, hand on the door handle.

“Maybe? I forgot,” Connor brushes it off, shifting the car into gear. It lurches forward suddenly, tossing Evan forward. He quickly buckles up and sinks in his seat.

Connor weaves through the neighborhood and takes the main roads into the other side of town. He tapes his fingers on the steering wheel and hums to the low-volume radio like he’s going for a casual afternoon drive to the supermarket.

“So, how was your time with Lorenzo?” Connor asks all-too-chipper, in a way that Evan doesn’t trust at all.

“Fine…” He says softly, wishing he’d just drop it.

“Did he give it to you yet?” Connor pushes, sounding slightly angry, and Evan cringes. “What’s that look for? We’re friends, aren’t we? Isn’t this what most guys talk about? Sex and girls? Well. Boys for you.”

“We aren’t most guys,” Evan mumbles, and that seems to shut Connor up. Evan just wishes that he wasn’t saying all these weird things, that he wasn’t (probably) high and driving recklessly, and that he could just go back to bed.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe _all_ of this was a bad idea.

But it’s too late now, because Connor’s arrived at their destination. They’re parked in front of a random house on the corner of a neighborhood. In terms of places they’ve visited the past few weeks, this isn’t exactly exciting.

“This isn’t the bowling alley,” Evan states the obvious aloud.

“This, Hansen, is Mr. O’Hare’s house,” Connor points through the glass with a finger gun. Evan studies it again. It’s painted orange. Of course. 

“Connor, this is ridiculous,” Evan crosses his arms. “What the hell are we doing at our psychology teacher’s house at four in the morning?”

Connor reaches around to the back seat, retrieving one of the bowling balls. It’s bright orange, and scuffed on one side. “Giving him a present.”

Okay, so he’s _definitely_ high. “What? This? Why?”

Exasperatedly, Connor pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “Have you ever pulled a prank before?” 

Evan’s blank look answers his question. “Exactly. Look, when you grow up, you’re probably going to have a big perfect family with a white picket fence and everything. And when you’re sitting at Sunday dinner, you’re going to want to have stories. Well, now you can tell them that you once left a bowling ball on your psychology teacher’s front yard. Now move.”

Out of spite, Evan snatches the ball. At this point, he’ll do anything to get him home quicker. He pushes open the car door and takes one step into the driveway. At first, he moves quickly to get it over with, but when he’s in the shadows, he slowly creeps towards the patio. All the house lights are off, but he’s terrified of setting off some sort of tripwire or security alarm. He sets the ball on top of the welcome mat and books it, practically diving into the front seat.

“Go, go, go!” He shouts. Connor pretends to adjust the mirror, slowly and painstakingly, and Evan punches his arm, shouting, “Go, you jerk!” Connor hits the gas, laughing as they speed away.

They leave one by Lorenzo’s host family’s house, too. Connor makes a large, dramatic flourish, winding it up with his arm before lightly rolling it by the front steps. Evan notices Lorenzo’s bedroom light is still on and ducks as low as he can until they’re on the next street.

Another one goes by their boss’ at the science museum, Bennett’s house. Connor tucks the turquoise ball inside the mailbox, right above the Playboy magazine subscription. (Connor would take it as blackmail but Evan reminded him it’s illegal to steal other people’s mail.) 

The fourth one goes to Michael’s house: Evan leaves the _Mike_ -engraved ball smack-dab in the middle of the driveway, right next to where Jeremy's car is parked, giggling at the ridiculous sight of it until a light flicks on and he stifles a scream of terror, hopping into the car and they speed off.

They’re on the interstate now, and Connor pulls off on one of the exits. From driving back and forth around town, he has to stop at a gas station. While they stand there in the cold, the only sound being the flow of gasoline, Evan looks up at the sky and feels like time is speeding up and slowing down all at once. This time of night isn’t just a time, but a state of being. An alternate reality. 

Which, Evan supposes, is what these middle-of-the-night adventures are all about.

Across the street from the gas station is a twenty-four hour diner, and they silently agree to go before driving home. They carry the last two bowling balls into the run-down diner, sliding into one of the booths by the window.

A tired-looking waitress in mustard yellow hands hem menus. Connor orders a black coffee without glancing at it, while Evan gets an order of pancakes and orange juice. Since moving in with the Kleinman's, Evan can’t remember the last time he’s had pancakes. There, it’s all avocado toast and oatmeal.

The waitress pours their drinks into mugs and disappears with the menus. Connor takes a sip of the coffee, closing his eyes.

“How do you drink it like that?” Evan scowls. “It’s disgusting.”

“Can’t put sugar in life to make it better, so why put it in coffee?” Connor retorts. Evan thinks that’s a stupid comeback, coffee is a drink and life is life, but he chooses not to say anything else. Connor watches him for a moment. “Kills the high,” He eventually says.

A few minutes later, Evan’s stack of pancakes come out, and Evan cuts into them ravenously, not having eaten since dinner almost twelve hours ago. He drowns them in butter and maple syrup, eating in silence. His eyes flicker back and forth between his food and Connor, who stares into his coffee thoughtfully.

“So, who gets these?” Evan gestures to the last two bowling balls on the counter with his fork.

Connor picks up the first one, tossing it in his hands. It’s swirled with all different shades of green, like apples and clovers all at once. Evan spots the engraving by the holes: _Oscar._

“Well, Oscar, there’s no giving up now,” Connor responds louder than he should in the empty diner. “You’re going to be state champion.”

Evan looks at him weirdly, but plays along. It’s five am, he’s sitting in an abandoned diner with Connor Murphy, and there’s only the waitress and a half-asleep trucker around, so why the hell not? He needs the acting practice anyway.

“You know my Daddy won’t let me…” He speaks in a fake-southern accent, glancing towards the other ball. “He thinks you’re bad for me... Charlie.”

Connor frowns in disapproval. “Now what’s your daddy know about bowling, Oscar?”  He shakes his head, rolling the Oscar ball in his hands. “Has he come to any of your games?” 

“That’s all it is to him. Just a game,” Evan frowns. “And to him, games are the devil’s handiwork. Life is all work to him, running his old fix-up shop. He wants me to take over the family business.”

 “Oscar, you’re the greatest!” Connor insists louder. “You could even make the nationals!”

 The trucker is staring at them now, a weirded-out expression on his face. Evan flushes.

“You know I have to respect his wishes,” Evan insists, feeling the trucker’s eyes on the side of his face. “He’s lived a hard life. Practically killed himself trying to raise us nine kids,” He sighs, setting his fork down with a loud clink. “That was my last game, baby.”

“Well, darlin',” Connor leans in, looking serious. Evan feels his face glow. “Then it was my last game too.”

The waitress walks by to refill the trucker’s coffee. Having overheard their conversation, there’s a smile on her face now, small and almost unnoticeable, but there. Connor sets the ball in his lap, takes a bite of Evan’s almost-gone pancakes, and tucks a couple of bills under his empty coffee cup. Then, he grabs a broken crayon from a discarded kids menu and scribbles on his napkin, speaking aloud as he writes. “Dear waitress, we may never play bowling together again, coming from rival families. Our only comfort comes that you’ll find a good home for our balls.” Evan snorts at the innuendo. “Best wishes, Oscar and Charlie.”

They watch from the window as the waitress finds their note, smiling softly to herself. Evan looks up towards Connor, who has an unreadable expression on his face.

As they’re driving back down the road, Evan spots another car on the street and hears rowdy teenagers packed into a convertible. He quickly ducks out of sight again as Connor keeps driving, jaw clenched.

He drops him off in front of the streetlight, and Evan looks at him expectantly. “Thanks for the breakfast,” He says quietly, unsure of what else to say. “Charlie.” He adds on to lighten the mood.

“Same time next week,” Connor tells him. “Next time, your treat.”

“Next time, don’t be high,” Evan retorts.

Connor looks at him weirdly. “Deal.”

\- - - -

Unlike his usual lunchtime spot on the roof, Evan spreads out on the quad during lunch, with Zoe resting her head on his stomach. It’s one of those perfect breezy days, where the sky is the best shade of blue and the wind slips through his fingertips. He watches the sky as Zoe eats an apple. 

“He’s just so sweet, you know? Understanding,” Evan babbles. “And he’s really smart too. You should see his psychology grade. And super hot.”

“We’re talking about Lorenzo, right?” Zoe asks through a mouthful of apple. 

“Of course!” Evan laughs. “Who else?” 

Zoe doesn’t reply. Instead, she asks, “What did you guys do this weekend?”

A smile naturally blossoms on Evan’s lips. “Oh, we hung out and… talked. A few other things,” Zoe shifts to glance at him pointedly. “ _Not_ that.”

She turns back, looking up towards the sky again. “So I guess Connor must’ve been hallucinating again,” She says softly.

“What?”

“He said something about going bowling with you last weekend,” Zoe says harshly.

“I mean, I guess I hung out with him too,” Evan fiddles with the zipper on his jacket, hopeful Zoe doesn’t recognize who it belongs to. She sits up, turning to look at him again clearly.

“Oh,” Is all she says. It’s not a normal “oh”, but an annoyed “oh”. One that questions just what his true intentions are.

“What, am I not allowed to be friends with him?” Evan crosses his arms, feeling accused.

“Not when they come stalking you in the middle of the night,” Zoe frowns. “We found him passed out on the couch, a bowling ball in his hand. It was one of my dad’s.”

“That’s not possible. We bought them from the thrift shop,” Evan defends himself.

“Connor and our dad used to go together when he was younger,” She explains. “It was kind of a family tradition thing. My dad was really good actually. Until he got too busy with work, Connor picked up his drug habit, and they stopped going. Dad donated them a few weeks ago.”

Evan doesn’t really know what to say.

“Be careful around my brother, okay? I know him. He can be… difficult at times. Just don’t lead him on,” Evan’s about to deny it, when she grabs her backpack. “I have to go make up a quiz. Later.” 

Evan’s head falls back on the grass, propping it up under his arms. He stares up at the clouds, wishing the stars were visible.

\- - - -

Usually, the Hansen-Kleinman household is silent.

Peter’s typically in his office, working on his desktop or on a phone call, Jared’s playing video games in his bedroom, and Heidi’s prepping for the upcoming wedding or out on a nursing shift. And Evan? Well, Evan’s doing whatever he can to pass the time until the sun goes down. 

So when he hears Peter’s sudden whoop of joy down the hall, he sets down his book for AP English, poking his head through the doorway. He catches the last few lines from a spirited phone conversation: “Absolutely! Yes! This weekend? No problem, I’ll work out the details. Thank you!”

When he ends the call, Peter emerges victoriously from his office. “Heidi! Guess what!” He shouts down the stairs. Heidi approaches the foot of the staircase, looking up at him expectantly. “Kids, come down! I have an announcement.”

Evan fully steps out of his bedroom now, slinking downstairs behind Peter. Jared comes out of his room after, headphones wrapped around his neck. “What’s going on, Dad?” He demands as Peter ushers them into the den, gesturing for them to sit down.

“Okay,” He claps his hands together. “Guess what.”

Evan shrugs while Jared rolls his eyes. “Just tell us, Dad.”

“Aright, alright. I just got off the phone with one of the higher-ups of the pharmaceutical firm I work for,” Peter explains in a rush. “I’ve been invited to a medical convention at New York University. It’s the perfect place to make connections, set up business lunches! Do you know what this means?”

“No,” Jared and Evan say in unison.

“I can finally introduce our company’s new prototype!” Peter responds excitedly, unfazed by their disinterest. “Heidi, what do you say? Weekend getaway?” 

“And leave the kids alone?” Heidi asks nervously. “Oh, I don’t know, Peter…”

“They’re practically adults, Heidi. I trust my boy, and Evan will keep him in line,” Peter waves her off dismissively. “Come on, we’ve both been working hard. I’ll get us a nice hotel, and we can do something fun in the city. I know you’ve always wanted to visit.”

“Well…” Heidi hums. “Okay. It sounds fun. I'll just have to call work and reschedule my shifts--” 

“Yes!” Peter grabs her hands, pulling her up into a hug and twirling her around. Evan and Jared share an odd look, probably thinking the same thing. “I’ll set up a flight for us.”

They head into the kitchen to look for airlines and vacant hotels, while Jared and Evan stay on the couch.

“So, home alone for the weekend. You do know what this means, right?” Jared asks him, a knowing smile slowly creeping on his face. 

“No?” Evan cocks his head to the side. 

“Party,” Jared leans in closer to whisper. “This weekend is Halloween. It’s perfect! The perfect chance to give our social statuses a boost,” He’s full on grinning now. 

“My social status is fine,” Evan whines, and Jared cackles. 

“Yeah right,” He thinks Evan’s joking, and when he sees that he isn’t, he shakes his head. “Anyway, I’ll spread the word, you can convince Jeremy’s older brother to supply the alcohol, right?” Jared suggests.

Evan stares down at his lap. “I guess…” He mutters, feeling awkward about everything. He’s never even _been_ to a house party before, let alone _throw_ one. He has a sinking feeling it won’t be as perfect as the movies make it out to be. There’s plenty of other things to do, too. Like hiding all the valuable and breakable things, making sure the police doesn’t show up, and hiding it from their parents. Guilt worms its way into his stomach, and he swallows.

“This is going to be epic,” Jared grabs his shoulders, shaking him excitedly. 

“Totally,” Evan agrees weakly, for once, not looking forward to the weekend.

\- - - -

Evan’s phone chimes when he’s in the shower.

At first, Evan thinks he’s imagining it. It’s no ordinary text tone, but a unique one from a very specific app. One that only one person he knows uses.

Shutting off the hot water, Evan reaches for a towel and runs it through his hair before securing it around his waist. He sits on the countertop, wishing his pruned fingertips would unlock his phone. His heart rate steadily climbs as he sees a familiar notification.

**You have one (1) new notification on Stigma!**

Biting his lip, he reads the text.

 **@leo:** you have one minute.

Frantically, Evan tries to type out a message, typing and deleting, rephrasing and deleting again. The clock ticks down quickly, the moments suspended in the air, and before he knows it, another message pops up on the screen. 

 **@leo:** time’s up. bye.

 **@evan:** Wait!!

 **@evan:** I’m sorry, okay?

 **@leo:** that’s it? that’s all you have to say? i knew i was wasting my time.

 **@evan:** No! Let me finish.

Evan doesn’t have time to think about what he’s saying, doesn’t have the time to craft it and make it perfect like he usually does. He types in a panicked rush, as if he was speaking to Leo face-to-face, words spilling out of him. He hits send and closes his eyes.

 **@evan:** I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you I was moving to Elmwood. I thought if you knew you’d want to meet up, and I was scared of that happening. Truth is, I really like you. I think you’re my only true friend. And I didn’t want to lose that. Lose us. I thought if you met me, you’d realize what an idiot I am. Because I’m not the same here as I am in real life. But I guess you’ve already figured that out. 

 **@evan:** Still, I should’ve told you. I know that now. I took away your choice, and I didn’t have that right.

The reply comes after a painfully-long minute. Sixty seconds of nail biting, heavy breathing, hopelessly wishing, even if he doesn’t know what he’s wishing for. It’s been over a month. Things have changed. He’s changed. Will things ever go back to normal? 

 **@leo:** you’re right. you didn’t have that right.

 **@leo:**  screw you for hiding this from me. screw you for being so oblivious. screw you for assuming that i wouldn’t like you irl. if you really think that, then you really don’t know me at all.

 **@evan:** I understand if you hate me. I hate me too.

 **@leo:** i don’t hate you.

A watery smile tugs on Evan’s lips. It’s not much, but it’s something. Baby steps.

 **@leo:** but because you didn’t tell me who you were, i’m not going to tell you who i am either.

 **@evan:** What? Why not?

 **@leo:** it’s more fun this way ;)

 **@evan:** Oh my god. You jerk.

 **@evan:** ...Not even a hint?

 **@leo:** nah.

 **@evan:** I guess I deserve it.

 **@leo:** you do. :)

 **@evan:** Fine. Jared is going to throw a Halloween party this weekend. He’s planning on inviting the whole school. You should come.

 **@leo:** not really my scene.

 **@evan:** Just… think about it okay?

 **@leo:** maybe.

Evan hesitates two beats, and sends one more message, one he wonders if he’ll regret.

 **@evan:** I missed you.

His message is read, but he doesn’t get a reply. He knows Leo is a night owl, so he’s intentionally ignoring the message. And still, he doesn’t regret it. At least he’s maybe-sort-of forgiven. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Baby steps.

He stares down at the app, logging his daily journal entry.

_October 27th, 2017: Happy_

_You missed me too, didn’t you? Maybe this means everything will be okay. I hope so._

He looks out the bathroom window. The stars seem to be burning a little brighter.

 _Baby steps_ , he repeats in his head, over and over, like a mantra. His heart beats steadily, pushing him towards the next moment. _Baby steps._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but did the waitress find a home for their balls??? tune in next time to plot holes han will never write


	17. seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is long and ridiculous and so many things happen i apologize in advance. have fun, kids.

The excitement of the parents’ weekend getaway is short-lived: Heidi has a million things to finish before their flight on Friday afternoon, from packing to rescheduling shifts. She takes extra shifts throughout the week, so Evan doesn’t see much of her in the days following Peter’s announcement.

Meanwhile, Evan and Lorenzo plan a weekend getaway of their own.

“My host family has this lake house down in SoCal,” Lorenzo explains, clicking through the photos on a Facebook page. He’s in Evan’s desk chair, with Evan leaning over his shoulder, arms wrapped loosely around his neck.

Evan studies them; the living room is all stripped wood, aquamarines and whites, with a sleek master bedroom and a Jacuzzi. Thinking that the two would have this alone for the upcoming long weekend makes his toes curl; he knows exactly what would go down underneath that velvet duvet.

He already has the perfect lie worked out—Evan plans to tell his mom that Lorenzo’s host family is headed down to the lake for the long weekend and he’s been invited along. His mom doesn’t know anything about his sexuality and assumes he and Lorenzo are friends. All he has to do is make sure she doesn’t find out it’ll just be the two of them in that empty house.

“You’re quiet,” Lorenzo observes, looking up at Evan. “Is it okay?”

“It’s perfect,” Evan declares. Spinning the swivel chair, he sets himself in Lorenzo’s lap, tilting his chin up and connecting their mouths. “Absolutely perfect,” He insists in between kisses, desperate and sloppy, his lips hot and bruised. Evan’s fingers find their way to Lorenzo’s shirt buttons and tears through them mindlessly, about to explore the hot skin underneath until there’s a knock at his door.

Evan quickly hops off Lorenzo’s lap and runs a hand through his hair to fix it, while Lorenzo fiddles with his shirt buttons, crossing his arms over them as Jared walks in uninvited. “Hey. Murphy dropped this off for you,” He rattles a pooly-taped box in his arms. He gives Evan a knowing look before setting it on the bed, mumbling something about locking the door before shutting it behind him.

“Think he could tell?” Lorenzo asks sheepishly.

“I don’t really care what Jared thinks,” Evan crosses the room, sitting on the bed and tearing into the package.

“What is that?”

“No idea. The psychology notes I lent him?” Evan guesses, even though it’s a long shot, considering he only sent those last week, and their quarter exam isn’t for another month. Peering inside the box, he sees a bunch of spare parts, bronze and plastic, with a curved glass edge. “What _is_ this?”

Lorenzo looks inside. “It looks like pieces of a telescope,” He suggests. “Why is Connor giving you this?” He picks up a note on the top, reading it aloud. “Guaranteed not to raise your GPA.”

“He just does weird shit like this sometimes,” Evan mutters through clenched teeth, seeing the other side of the note. _4 am. Bring this. Not a date._ He snatches the note out of Lorenzo’s hands and tucks it under his leg.

“He has a crush on you,” Lorenzo insists, and Evan lets out a barking laugh.

“He has a crush on weed,” Evan jokes.

“Whatever, Evan. Whatever you’re doing, he seems to think you’re interested,” Lorenzo says quickly. A pause. “You’re not, are you?”

“No!” Evan insists immediately. “God, no. It’s Connor. He’s just… a friend.”

Lorenzo is clearly unconvinced. “Whatever you say.”

“Look, can we just… forget it?” Evan pushes the box aside, grabbing his hands and pulling him into a quick kiss. “Show me more pictures. I want to see the lake.”

\- - - -

For once, Evan is on time, standing underneath the streetlight a few minutes to four. The world is so quiet, Evan hears the rumbling of Connor’s car two or streets over before the headlights come into view. The car rolls slowly to a stop, and the window slides down, revealing Connor with a dopey, lopsided grin on his face.

“You look wonderful, princess,” Connor jokes, glancing down at his plaid pajama pants and flip-flops.

“We need to talk.”

“Hop in,” Connor gestures brightly towards the passenger seat.

“No,” Evan says firmly. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” Connor watches him, waiting for him to say something else, and he does. He curls his fists in his pockets, grounds himself in the sidewalk. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“This sounds like a breakup scene,” Connor jokes, but there is an edge to his voice that shows he’s holding back anger.

“Y-You can’t keep doing this, you know,” Evan slides into the passenger seat, because it’s cold and he has more to say. Connor starts to drive, slowly, down the street and through the neighborhood. Evan’s voice rises, growing more desperate, with every word. “Delivering weird shit to my house, sending me clever little notes, dragging me to all these places at four in the morning--”

“Okay, stop,” Connor interrupts him, his voice bitter. “I’m not _dragging_ you anywhere, so let’s get that part clear. In fact, I’ve never forced you to go anywhere. You’ve _agreed_ to come.”

Evan bites his lip, somehow retaining eye contact with Connor’s burning irises. It must be the darkness that gives him the courage to stand his ground.

“In fact, what are you even doing, hanging out with the school freak every weekend?” Connor demands, but Evan doesn’t give him an answer. His hands curl into fists in his lap, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms. “You’re Evan Hansen, the teacher’s pet, lead in the school play, with the quirky friend group, stud boyfriend? Don’t you have better things to do on a Friday night?”

The anger in his stomach bubbles like hydrochloric acid, climbing to his heart and then his throat, and he has trouble breathing. “I…” He tries to explain himself, come up with _something_. In this moment, when he most desperately needs the courage to find the right words, his anxiety kicks in and he’s left a stuttering mess.

Connor lets the car roll to a stop at a four-way intersection. “Look at that. We’re at a crossroads,” Connor observes, sarcasm lacing his words.

He’s about to cross when Evan hisses out “Stop the car.” Connor slams the brakes and they both lurch forward. “Let me out. I’ll walk.”

Connor presses the unlock button forcefully and Evan fumbles for his seatbelt, shrugging off Connor’s borrowed jacket and tossing it in his lap. “You know, I really thought you were d-different,” Evan bites back tears, making sure Connor hears every word. “I guess I was wrong. You don’t care either.”

Evan slams the car door and storms down the sidewalk, crossing his arms to keep warm. He hears the rumble of a car engine but refuses to look back until he’s back in his bedroom, huddling under the covers and willing sleep to come to him.

(It doesn’t.)

\- - - -

Unlike Evan, who’s had a storm cloud over this head all day, fatigue working alongside gravity to pull him down, Jared is in unnaturally high spirits as he frolicks around the house, dusting off lampshades and hiding, as he calls it, “any incriminating evidence”. Meaning, Evan supposes, the baby pictures scattered around the house, with Jared – gap-toothed and somehow even chubbier – eating ice cream and clutching to an old stuffed bunny rabbit. His smile, less gapped from braces, never leaves his face as he rambles about the party.

He calls it “the event of the year,” and says it could even draw away guests from Chloe Valentine’s annual Halloween bash. Evan isn’t sure if he’s able to compare himself to the most popular senior in school, but Jared’s spread the word to all the upperclassmen, and easily a hundred people had confirmed they’d be attending.

Which meant Jared has to figure out how to feed and intoxicate a hundred high schoolers.

And Evan has to figure out how to barricade his soundproof his bedroom within the next few hours so he could enjoy a full night’s rest without horny teens breaking down his door.

Evan would’ve opted out completely if he could – he even tried to convince his mom to bring him along on the trip, on the guise of touring NYU – but found solace in the fact that Jeremy was bringing Michael along, Lorenzo promised to keep him company, and Zoe was bringing her garage band as entertainment for the night. (She tried to get Jared to pay for the “professional gig”, but he insisted he was paying her in publicity, which nearly made her quit until Evan convinced – okay, begged – her to stay.)

Instead, he gets stuck with the job of cleaning the house, putting away anything breakable, which is a near-impossible feat, considering Peter’s taste in interior decoration is thousands of dollars’ worth of modern art. He tucks vases under the sink, knickknacks inside cabinets, and locks the master bedroom.

Jeremy’s older brother shows up a few hours later in a dusty pickup truck, and he and Jared work on unloading a bright orange keg, cases of beer, and coolers of every fruity flavor imaginable into the refrigerator, followed by pouring family-size bags of chips and candy into serving bowls. With the lights dimmed, the speaker system brought out, and everything in its (improper) place, Jared collapses on the couch, satisfied, while Evan hides in his room until the doorbell starts ringing.

Within an hour, what feels like the entire student population is crowded in the downstairs and lawn of the house, and the music is so deafening not even his noise-cancelling headphones save his pounding headache.

He hears a knock at his door and thinks not to answer, assuming it to be some already-wasted couple, but a familiar voice proves otherwise.

“Hey, Evan! Get out here!”

Evan pokes his head through the doorway, seeing Jeremy in the hall. He’s dressed different than usual; cooler. His usual wrinkled cardigan and baggy jeans are replaced by an Eminem t-shirt tucked into black skinny jeans, and his hair is actually combed. A pair of sunglasses hangs from his collar, which is odd, considering it’s dark and they’re inside, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, he says slowly, “Look at you…”

“You like?” Jeremy picks at the hem. “I’m just… trying to fit in—“ He twitches, and clears his throat, smiling wider. “I mean, cool costume, right? I’m dressed as Eminem.”

Evan doesn’t really see it. “I don’t think Eminem would wear a t-shirt of himself,” He comments, and Jeremy frowns.

“Hey, at least I’m not dressed like the slutty cats and mice down there,” Jeremy points behind him. “Where’s your costume?”

“Oh, I’m not really… attending,” Evan says softly, taking a step back when Jeremy grabs the door before he can close it further.

“Hell yeah you are! This is your party too, man!” Jeremy pushes his way in. “Come on, let’s find you something to change into…” He studies Evan’s room, taking in the details as Evan grows self-conscious of the minimal decorations and boring furniture. He digs through the closet and finds a pair of red suspenders tucked away, making Evan immediately frown. The last time he wore those was for his aunt’s wedding four years ago, when he was forced into being the ring bearer. And she had a completely red-themed wedding. Talk about weird.

Jeremy also finds his glasses, chunky and horn-rimmed, something Evan doesn’t want _anyone_ to see, it only makes him look like more of a nerd than usual—but Evan slowly realizes that’s the look Jeremy’s going for.

“That outfit’s fine,” He nods, and Evan glances down at his plain white buttoned shirt, wondering if he meant that he looked nerdy enough already. “Put these on. And tuck in the shirt.” Evan complies and looks at himself in the mirror and scowls. “You look so cute—I mean, cool! Yeah. Go get some.” He starts to shove Evan out the door, and Evan barely manages to grab his phone before he’s tossed out into the wild.

And wild is no hyperbole; the downstairs area was a literal jungle of animal costumes, from tigers to birds, along with R-rated versions of any profession or character imaginable. Evan nearly runs into a half-dressed Leia Skywalker he recognizes from environmental science as Jeremy drags him towards the kitchen.  A few people are lined up around the keg, and Evan goes for a bottle of water while Jeremy gets them two cups.

Evan studies him as he leans against the counter, sipping the drink casually. When he takes a sip himself, it’s warm and flat; even he knows it’s cheap, disgusting alcohol. And yet, Jeremy is unfazed by the disgusting taste, the perfect image of a cool partygoer. His eyes float between people, quietly observing, expression unchanging.

“Where’s Michael?” Evan asks after a moment of silence.

Jeremy doesn’t meet his eye. “Dunno,” He shrugs.

“Didn’t you bring him with you?”

“He was being kind of a downer,” Jeremy says dismissively. His eyes light up with recognition as he looks into the distance and he grins, waving to a blonde girl on the other side of the room. “Hey, Brooke! Lookin’ hot! Later, Evan.”

After Evan watches him go, he realizes he’s alone. Surrounded by familiar faces, but alone.

He makes his way into the living room in order to look busy and not like an epic loser, where he sees one of the couches has been pushed to the side to make an open space for the band. Evan spots Zoe, focused on tuning her bass. She’s dressed in all black, with a headband with cat ears and Sharpie whiskers on her cheeks. He pushes towards the front and sits on the armrest to get a closer view.

“Hey everyone,” A guy Evan only vaguely recognizes, with dark floppy hair and tanned skin, announces the growing audience. “Are you all having a good time?”

A chorus of whoops and cheers answers him, and he grins. “We’re No Name Yet, and we hope you enjoy our music!”

Evan has to admit, he’s rather impressed by the band. By no means are they professional, considering one guy’s guitar string broke and the percussionist was using one snare instead of a full set, but the lead vocalist was impressive, and sang well enough to get people dancing and jumping. Zoe did an acoustic song on her own, which got people swaying side to side, phone flashlights raised in the air like a constellation. Evan watches Zoe as she sings, her hair falling out of her braid and the graceful movement of her fingers, in the zone.

When the band finishes, she comes up to him and pulls him into a hug. “You actually made it,” She grins, wiping a bead of sweat off her brow. Her bass rests on her back, and Evan notices her shoulder strap is pink, yellow, and blue striped.

“It _is_ my house,” Evan states the obvious, and she laughs harder than Evan expected, considering he never tried to be funny.

Zoe pulls back to look at him. “Nice costume,” She laughs, and Evan feels his face turn pink, muttering out a “you too.” She tugs on his arm. “Come on, dance with me.”

Now that the stereo is blasting a tune from the last decade, the entire group is squished on the makeshift dance floor, “dancing”—which is really just jumping up and down and gyrating on each other. Zoe and Evan grab each other’s hands and move back and forth, hopping around like idiots and shouting the words with everyone else. The songs shifts to an 80s song, and reminds him of elementary school, when he first got into music, and he’d blast his mom’s old stereo and have a one-boy dance party in the living room until his parents joined in, spinning him around over and over until he got dizzy, falling on the carpet giggling.

For a moment, the people around him aren’t pushing and yelling, and his own little space with Zoe is comforting. The song is comforting. For a moment, Evan feels _happy_. With each spin, his eyes blur out the fear. With each jump, he floats a little bit more.

“I can take it from here,” A syrupy voice offers when the song changes again, and Evan feels a sturdy hand on his shoulder. Evan stops jumping to see Lorenzo in the crowd, all smiles and bleary eyes. Zoe gives him a knowing smile and slips away, saying something about getting a drink.

Lorenzo’s hands find their way around his waist and Evan’s so high on the music that he doesn’t even care if other people are watching. The entire school could find out about this and he wouldn’t even care; this moment is too good, too intoxicating to stop. Their bodies move closer, Evan pushes himself closer, feeling the warmth of Lorenzo’s chest against his back. They move slowly, dangerously, like calming waves and a hurricane all at once. His face is flushed, zeroed in on the friction and the heat.

“Come on,” Lorenzo whispers into his skin, making Evan shiver. “It’s loud down here. Let’s go somewhere else.”

At first Evan thinks he means outside, but as Lorenzo grabs his hand and leads him upstairs, realization sets in. Oh. _Oh._

Evan finds Jeremy and Brooke in his room, and Jeremy looks up at him sheepishly, unapologetic, as Evan kicks them out. With the door locked and the room vacant, Lorenzo pushes him against the wall, connecting their lips.

The taste of alcohol and peach is on Lorenzo’s lips, and Evan realizes he’s been drinking. Perhaps a little bit too much, considering how quickly his hands are moving and that his shirt is already unbuttoned. They crash onto the bed, a mess of arms and legs, and Evan’s head is spinning, an uneven top that unravels as lips touch skin and suddenly-- nothing.

“W-Wait- stop,” Evan mumbles in between kisses, securing his hands around Lorenzo’s arms. He tries to pull him away, to breathe for even a moment, but Lorenzo holds him down firmly, in that dominating way Evan liked before, but now it sends his heart racing in a different way. “Leo, seriously, not now--”

“We don’t have to wait for the lake,” Leo says in a low voice, guttural and terrifying, and Evan struggles against the grip on his waist. “Why not right now?”

“Y-You’re drunk,” Evan’s voice quivers. “I don’t want-- n-not like this.”

“I know you want it, Evan. You’re such a tease all the time,” Lorenzo is speaking into the crook of his neck now, running his teeth along the sharp lines. “I know you hang out with that guy in psychology at night. Prove it’s me. Prove that you want me, not him.”

“I don’t!” Evan shouts, a newfound strength twitching in his fingers as he shoves Lorenzo off of him, giving him just a few moments to tumble off the bed. Lorenzo is dazed and mumbling, and Evan’s never seen him so angry. He watches, open-mouthed and panting, for a moment longer before running out of his room.

With people still flooded in the hallway and staircase, Evan pushes his way towards the bathroom. The door is locked, and Evan knocks as hard as he can.

“I’ll be out in a second!”

Evan recognizes that voice.

“Michael?” Evan calls. His voice is tearful and frightened, just like Michael’s. “It’s Evan. Open up.”

He hears faint shuffling, the door unlocking, and the door slowly cracking open. “Sorry, I was-- hey, are you okay?”

Evan pushes his way into the bathroom and locks the door behind him, resting his head against the wood, exhaling. He doesn’t process Michael’s question until a few moments of staring at the floor later, whispering “What?” absentmindedly.

“Shit, dude, what happened to you? You look…” Michael trails off. Evan meets his eye; his eyes are bloodshot (whether it’s from weed or crying, Evan can’t tell) and his face is wet. From sink water, supposedly.

“I-- Um, I don’t know?” It comes out more like a question. “I was with Leo, and then he just… _changed,_ and I… I had to get out of there,” Evan spills in a rush. “Uh, are you just hanging out here?”

Michael laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, yeah. Once Jeremy ditched me, that asshole, I couldn’t find anyone and figured I’d just hang here until it was time to go,” He’s just as rushed and nervous, fingers reflexively unclenching and clenching underneath his hoodie pocket. Evan recognizes his expression, as its one he’s worn countless times: the suppression of a panic attack.

Evan frowns. He isn’t sure what to say - he’s never been very good with words - so instead he puts his hand on Michael’s shoulder comfortingly, who takes this as an invitation to pull Evan into a hug. Evan sniffs and buries his head into Michael’s shoulder; the two had never really talked before, only through Jeremy or in English class, but a moment like this made him feel much closer to the boy.

“Let’s get you home. Can I walk you to your car?” Evan suggests.

Michael shrugs, his face twisting. “If we can make it out of here alive,” He jokes, earning a weak laugh from Evan.

The two walk, Evan never letting go of Michael’s hoodie sleeve, to the back door and around the house to where the cars are parked up and down the street. Evan is looking frantically for Lorenzo the entire time, over his shoulder and on every nearby face, unsure if he will appear out of nowhere and attack him again.

They approach what is supposedly Michael’s car, a rust-colored PT Cruiser. “Here’s my loser ride,” Michael gestures to the vehicle sarcastically.

“What? This is such a cool car!” Evan gushes, running his hand along the hood.

Michael’s face brightens. “Really?” He asks, sounding like a joyful child. Evan nods and his smile grows wider. “Thanks! It was my mom’s. Need a ride anywhere?”

As much as Evan doesn’t want to go back, he shakes his head. “I live here, remember?” He shoves his hands into his pockets, realizing his phone isn’t there. He pats around, growing more concerned by the second. “I think I left my phone, anyway.”

“Call me if you change your mind,” Michael says, stepping into the car and starting the ignition. Evan watches him drive away until he’s out of sight, sneaking back into the party to retrieve his phone unnoticed.

Evan considers going upstairs to find his cell phone, but freezes next to his bedroom doorway, when a shadow passes along the wall.

 _Someone is there,_ he realizes.

He doesn’t want to risk it, and he doesn’t want to stay at this terrible party for a moment longer, so he goes to the only other place that makes sense.

\- - - -

“Hansen? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Evan blinks back tears. The sight of Connor in the doorway, in sweatpants and a simple t-shirt, looking simultaneously exhausted and worried, is enough to make him completely break down.

“L-Look, I know you’re mad at me and all, but... s-something happened and I have nowhere else to go, and um, c-can we go somewhere?” He asks softly, wiping away tears, assuming he’d say no and slam the door in his face.

Which is why he’s surprised to see Connor open the door wider; a silent offering, a silent acceptance. “Thanks,” Evan whispers, ducking his head as he slips into the house quietly.

Following Connor up the stairs, Evan’s mind is swimming. He hears the floor creak underneath their combined weight and Connor drags him into his bedroom before anyone can hear. “I just have to grab something,” He says, digging through a drawer while Evan looks around.

It’s not what he expects, and yet it’s oddly fitting at the same time. He’s always known Connor to be reserved, and it isn’t until this moment where he realizes how different Connor is than how he shows the world. Evan can piece together his interests, habits, personality, all within a few moments of glancing around. He admires the framed band posters, the unmade black comforter (unsurprising) with the pastel blue blanket (less unsurprising), the moon-shaped night light, and the neatness of the area, save for the incredibly messy desk, strewn with all kinds of art supplies, from acrylics to open sketchbooks. Evan is dying to take a peek, but turns his head away.

“Cool room,” He says awkwardly, his voice still raw from crying earlier, nodding at the guitar hanging on his wall, next to the collection of vinyl albums. As his eyes move around, He notices the wall next to his bed is covered with a tapestry swirled with purple and navy, and glow-in-the-dark stars cover the ceiling above his pillows.

“Come on, let’s go,” Looping a set of car keys around his finger, Connor walks towards the window, pushing it up. He hops through, and Evan sees him standing on the roof, sliding down towards the edge.

“We aren’t going to take the stairs down?” Evan wonders aloud. He doesn’t see any trees, his preferred mode of house-escape. Connor gives him a pointed look, and he follows suit slowly, not wanting to accidentally slip and fall off. Been there, done that.

Standing on the roof, Evan has a clear view of the neighborhood. Behind the woods, he can see his house, lit up like a Christmas tree, with the music loud enough to hear a block away. He also has a clear view of the sky, although tonight, it’s not much. Just a black void, with the faint silhouettes from the distant mountains.

“This view sucks,” Evan says before he can stop himself, and Connor snorts in amusement.

“It’s a new moon. There’s nothing to see,” Connor tells him, swinging his legs over the side of the roofing and scaling down the arbor along the house, using the vines as rungs. “Your turn.” Evan shakes his head automatically, and he frowns. “Come on. It’s like a tree.”

 _Doubtful_ , Evan thinks in disdain, securing his foot on the top rung of the arbor. He doesn’t look down, focusing on grabbing the right vine and slowly guiding his way down, not breathing until his feet hit grass.

“Where do you want to go?” Connor asks when they’re in the car.

“I don’t care,” Evan responds. “Anywhere away from here.”

Connor glances at him, trying to make sense of his words, worry still evident on his face. “I’ll just drive, then.”

They end up going through the downtown area, passing the science museum and the ice cream shop; Evan had yet to try _À_ _La Mode_ even though it is a town favorite, famous for their hot fudge sundaes and eggless cookie dough.

“Can I ask what happened?” Connor mumbles under his breath.

“Lorenzo,” Evan says even quieter. He feels embarrassed and ashamed, and he's afraid for Connor to see him with all his walls knocked down, the inside-Evan he tries so desperately to hide. “He. Um… I didn’t want-- and he tried to--”

Evan doesn’t need to finish. Connor’s hands clench so tightly on the steering wheel, his knuckles turn white. “I’ll fucking kill him,” He hisses through clenched teeth, automatically pressing the gas pedal harder, sending them speeding through the near-abandoned roads.

After a few more minutes of silence, they’re on one of the winding roads that leads to the outskirts of town, past the rich neighborhoods, the thrift shop, the apple orchard. In fact, it’s just them and an old country road, broken and sunbleached asphalt that makes the car bump underneath them.

“Turn here,” Evan points to a divergence in the road, a dirt path that is even more abandoned. He wants to get as far away from civilization, far away from himself as possible.

“Funny you pick this road,” Connor’s expression changes as he swerves the car, lurching them both to the left. The car bumbles down the path, passing trees until the path ends at a rocky cliff. Connor throws the car into park and hops out. Evan stares out the window, realization setting in; beyond the cliff is the stretch of the beach. The other side, alight with a burning flame and the amiable laughter of drinking college kids, is the familiar sight of the popular bonfire hangout.

When he gets out of the car, Connor is sitting along the cliff’s edge. Evan joins him; almost too close, but just far enough to be safe - from both the ledge and him - and traces the ground with his finger absentmindedly.

“I’ve never been on this side,” Evan comments, just because the silence is so palpable it physically constrains him. Connor’s expression shifts, eyes never leaving the bonfire as the flames twist towards the darkened sky.

“Never been on that side,” Connor grimaces, holding one leg close to his chest. Evan watches the soft glow that’s cast on Connor’s face and he continues talking, just to fill the awkwardness.

“You aren’t missing much," Evan mumbles. "Down there, it all seems so important. Who’s hooking up with who, if you’re drinking or wearing the right clothes,” He fiddles with his hands in his lap, picking absentmindedly at damaged cuticles. He knows he’s babbling, talking way more than he normally allows himself to, and Connor probably couldn’t care less, but his mess of thoughts can’t stay in his head anymore. “Everyone lives and dies by that crap. And for the longest time, I wanted to be a part of that, but… up here, it’s like none of it meant anything. So why did I ever care?”

Connor says nothing for a moment, but his face is worth a thousand words he could’ve said.

“But you don't,” Evan says.

“What?”

“None of that stuff matters to you,” Evan continues. Connor’s leaned in, brow furrowed and listening intently, but he is unable to meet Evan’s eye. “You don’t care what people think. You’re just… you,” He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. _Why did you say that…_ he mentally kicks himself, cringing. _You’re such an idiot, Evan._

Connor doesn’t say anything. His fingers are curled tightly around his leg  and Evan swears he’s blushing, but it’s too dark and he’s too tired to tell. The party, Lorenzo, his life all feels a million miles away. On top of this cliff, with the beach separating him from a life he thought he wanted, he finally feels _free_.

“So,” Evan jokes in a lighter tone. “Do you come here a lot?”

Connor looks down. He shrugs one shoulder slightly, lips pursed.

“Cool,” Evan grins teasingly, satisfied with himself. “I found your place.”

A laugh; relieved, yet nervous. “I don’t know how you did. Chances are probably one in a billion.”

Evan looks at Connor again, the hopeful smile not leaving his face. “Stranger things have happened, right?”

Connor freezes. He’s looking at Evan now, shock, realization, and something else all swirled into his features. He looks away briefly, bites his lip, nods, and then back again.  “Connor?” Evan tries to say, “What’s--” Connor cups Evan’s cheek and leans down, kissing him and the rest of the words were lost against his mouth.

The world goes quiet, like the moment of silence between lightning and thunder. Connor kisses him gently but determinedly, their lips sealed like an unspoken, unbroken promise. Evan’s mind is blank, his eyes glazing over, and then he’s drowning in everything Connor Murphy, from the smell of mango shampoo to his hoodie, chapped lips and bruised skin.

And just as quickly as it began, the kiss ends. For a moment, Connor stares dazedly at Evan’s lips, and then pulls away suddenly. “Shit,” He says softly, and Evan can’t tell if it’s an _I shouldn’t have done that_ “shit” or a _that was amazing_ “shit”. Which one scares him more, he can’t tell. “Um. We should probably get going.”

Evan covers his mouth in surprise, staring ahead in shock. “Right,” He says, and then he says it again. “Okay. Yeah.”

He’s fully aware his mind is malfunctioning, spewing out nonsense, and he doesn’t trust himself to walk. He hardly registers getting into the car, nor can he pick out a single detail of the drive home. At some point, they started holding hands, and Evan doesn’t even remember how it happened.

But he does remember the softened, unguarded look Connor gives him when Evan tells him goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *muffled screaming*
> 
> (tfw you use your free days in english to write your fic instead of your 4 page research paper and its due tomorrow;; #worth it #i hope)


	18. eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ever feel like you're on a rollercoaster, but all you're going is downhill?

Evan wakes up from what feels like a hazy dream, translucent and grey, swirling in his head. Thirty seconds of blissful blankness in his mind are followed by a stream of consciousness, reminders of what last night held: the party. The drinking. Lorenzo. Michael. _Connor._

He brushes his fingers across his lips, the touch surreal. He grins to himself mindlessly and jumps out of bed, in surprisingly happy spirits considering he only got a few hours of sleep last night.

After turning on the shower, Evan wanders around his room, picking up a discarded jacket and turns to hang it up, when he notices something sticking out of it: his missing cell phone.

 _Duh,_ Evan thinks to himself, resisting the urge to slap his forehead. _Of course it would be there._

He mindlessly unlocks the device, the phone already pulled up to Stigma, scrolled up to a direct message with Leo from a few days’ back. His eyes gloss over the words:

 **@leo:** you know, you scare me sometimes, evan.

 **@evan:** What do you mean??

 **@leo:** you kind of make me feel like myself.

 **@evan:** Good. I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else.

 **@evan:** I like you just the way you are.

 **@leo:** careful, wouldn’t want to make me think you’re falling for me.

 **@evan:** Says you.

Evan doesn’t remember being on Stigma last night - he didn’t even think about logging a daily mood entry - but the instance is so happenstance he chooses not to think much of it, hopping in the shower.

He’s so immersed in the feeling of scalding hot water washing away the weirdness of last night that he almost doesn’t hear the phone ring. He lets it go to voicemail the first time, but when the caller keeps calling, he huffs impatiently and throws on a towel. Lifting his phone to his nose, he reads: _3 Missed Calls from Michael. 2 voicemails from Michael. 6 messages from Michael._

_Are you okay??_

_Evan?_

_I’m guessing you saw it._

_I’m so sorry this is happening._

_Just please… don’t ignore me right now._

_That’s it. I’m coming over._

His heart doubles its rate within three seconds, and his fingers shake to formulate a reply, barely managing to keep the words legible with all the typos he’s making. _See what? Michael, you’re scaring me. What’s going on???_

Giving up on the relaxing haven that is his shower, he quickly dresses and paces around the room worriedly, waiting for Michael to text back. “Why isn’t he responding,” Evan hisses to no one, glaring at his phone. “He just texted me two minutes ago.”

After a few agonizing minutes, Michael bursts into his room, hoodie tucked over his head to cover his unruly bedhead. His phone in one hand, keys in the other, he tosses the latter on his desk and finds Evan still pacing, having not noticed him.

“-an. Evan!” He shouts louder.

Startled, Evan snaps back to reality when Michael places his hands firmly on his shoulders. “M-Michael! You’re here! Wh-wh…. What’s happening?” He whispers softly. “Um, you didn’t tell me.”

Michael pauses, studying his worried face. Not one ounce of any other emotion. Suddenly, it clicks. “You haven’t seen it, have you?”

Evan pales, shaking his head. “Seen what?”

Michael takes a step back, his hands falling limply to his sides. “Ah… yikes. Um, well. There’s no easy way to show you this.”

“Just tell me,” Evan demands harsher than he intends. Michael hesitantly unlocks his phone, pulling up screenshots from redwoodsecrets, the school’s gossip Instagram page.

Evan has an Instagram but seldom uses it; he mainly keeps up with acquaintances from his old school. He has followed a few classmates from Redwood, but he’s not involved enough with the student body to follow all the school’s social media pages, much less the school’s anonymous internet-tabloid that no one talks about but everyone reads. Jeremy once said they’ve been trying to catch the person behind the account since last year, but they always use a public library computer, which means it’s nearly impossible to track.

In essence, Evan’s never found the need to keep up with Redwood’s gossip rag. Until now.

On the most recent page, a series of six screenshots have been posted. Evan spots a familiar chat interface, and even more familiar text conversations. His tears fill his vision, blurring out words until they spiral and dance off the page.

Text conversations. Leo and Evan. Flirty messages taken out of context, sappy moments they don’t mention the next day, secrets about Leo’s suicide that he’s never told anyone but him.

And now, everyone.

Evan only catches a glimpse of the caption: _New kids Evan Hansen and Lorenzo Capello aren’t as innocent as everyone thinks! Check out these dirty text messages, from last weekend’s exclusive Halloween bash--_

It takes all his might to not throw the phone in a rage; instead, he lets it fall limply onto the bed as he sinks down to the floor, curling around himself.

 _Posted 8 hours ago,_ it had said. Realization sets in like a brick to the face.

“I reported it last night,” Michael said softly, carefully, as if Evan is a ticking time bomb and could detonate at any moment.

“Everyone’s seen it by now,” Evan retorts, voice muffled when he puts his head in his hands.

Michael is about to say something when they hear someone shout his name. Jared bursts into the room, all triumphant grins and stomping feet. Evan winces. “Evan! Did you see it? They called it an “exclusive halloween bash”! But damn, way to kill my popular reputation so quickly....” He pauses mid-sentence when he sees the scene in Evan’s bedroom. His hand freezes in mid-air. “Oh. Oops.”

“Not fucking funny, Kleinman,” Michael hisses, taking a step forward.

Jared frowns, looking surprisingly guilty. “Evan, I--”

“Save it,” Michael spits. “Just get out.”

Jared’s eyes flicker between the two boys before shaking his head, closing the door behind him.

Michael slides down next to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Evan, no one believes that stupid stuff anyway. It’s not like redwoodsecrets is a reputable source.”

“I just…” Evan wonders aloud, his throat closing up as the tears threaten to fall. “Those were private. The only person who knows my phone password is…”

Evan freezes.

_No._

It’s impossible. And yet, the only explanation for why his phone went missing. Why his phone was pulled up to Stigma. Revenge for the person he pissed off last night.

“It’s already down,” Michael assures him, rubbing circles in his back as Evan tries to pull himself into a tighter ball, reduce his volume enough so he can disappear inside himself. “I’m sure no one saw it.”

\- - - -

Everyone saw it.

\- - - -

 **@evan:** I’m guessing you saw it too. I’m sorry. It wasn’t me.

The one good thing that happens on Monday morning is that Evan manages to convince his mom he is sick, and gets to stay home, avoiding the inevitable for just one more day. He spends the day home alone, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, listening to his _Dad_ playlist.

It didn’t make him feel any better.

Which is why the next day, Evan thinks his absolute worst nightmare is finally coming true as he walks the halls of Redwood. Michael had texted him that morning to keep his head ducked high, to not let anyone know the words are getting to him, but Evan forgets his friendly advice the moment he locked eyes with half the student body, watching him as if they were waiting for him to do something. Freak out, or break down. Whichever would be more amusing to them, maybe.

Ducking his head, he moves towards his locker as quickly as possible. He fumbles with the lock, fingers shaking, cursing himself when he can’t twist the combination properly on the first try.

Every footstep he hears, he tenses up, thinking someone will approach him, someone will whisper something behind his back, someone will shout something he’ll never live down. He shuts his locker door quietly, clutching his math textbook closely to his chest and scurrying off to the roof where he can hide until first bell. He feels like he’s in the trash compactor of that one Star Wars movie, except it is their whispers that threaten to squeeze him to a pulp.

 _They’re talking about you,_ A nasty part of his brain reprimands.

 _Shut up, shut up, shut up_ , He tells himself. It doesn’t do much good.

He hides on the roof, focusing on his breathing to make sure he doesn’t spiral, because that’s the only thing that would make this worse. God, he fucking hates having anxiety. There are a lot of fucked-up things about him, but life at Redwood was actually going well for a while, and yet somehow he still managed to screw it up. He guesses he just can’t escape the inevitable.

Evan checks his messages on Stigma, but Leo hasn’t responded. He elects to read a random page of his math textbook, just to pass the time and focus his attention on anything else besides the looming threat of the school day.

When he hears the faint sound of the late bell, Evan grabs his things and barrels down the staircase so quickly his textbook flies out of his hands, tumbling down the steps. He bends over to grab it when he feels a sharp stinging on his ass, jolting up in surprise to see a guy standing there, looking nonplussed.

“What?” He demands accusingly. “Thought you liked that, fag.”

Evan feels his face turn beet red as he grabs the book and runs off, not looking back until he slides into his seat in math class. He feels everyone’s eyes on him, including Zoe and Alana, who give him narrow-eyed, concerned looks, but he focuses on the board the entire period, not hearing a single word his precalculus teacher says.

By lunch, Evan has received three homophobic slurs, one shove to the side in the hall, and endless stares. But Evan quickly found out the worst was the whispers. The white-noise silence drove him to insanity, wondering if they were talking about him, what they were saying, whatever lies they’d fashioned to please themselves.

Evan knows Elmwood is a sleepy beach town, nowhere near exciting as LA or San Francisco, where absolutely nothing of interest happens. The people who live there only stay in Elmwood because their parents had grown up there, and they only stay because _their_ parents had lived there. Thus begins a cycle of the town where everyone knows each other and nothing escapes unnoticed.

He supposes that’s why redwoodsecrets exists in the first place. Sick of dealing with their boring, repetitive days, Redwood students busied themselves by school gossip and secretly wished for something, _anything_ memorable to happen to make this day unlike the rest so they’d have something new to talk about. He always thought California was progressive with this kind of thing, but there’s something about high school that brings out the worst in people.

Evan plans to get to AP Psychology early, and waits outside the door until Lorenzo strolls by. He grabs his wrist and pulls him closer, bad at confrontation but knowing he’ll explode if he doesn’t address the elephant in the room.

“W-Why did you do that?” He demands. The first words he’s spoken all day.

Lorenzo’s mouth twitches in contempt, and he pushes Evan back. His head flies into the lockers, and he winces, biting his lip to keep from crying out in pain. “Why did _I_ do that? Why did _you_ do that?”

“You w-went through my messages. P-Private messages! And you _posted_ them!” Evan’s voice is shaking, but he’s too mad to care. Seeing Lorenzo standing there defensively, not giving him the answer he wants, it’s all too much.

“It wasn’t _me,_ ” Lorenzo hisses, taking a step closer. He’s mad, but he also looks guilty. “...Someone else posted them.” He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts.

“You’re the only one who knows my phone password,” Evan crosses his arms, and the guilt comes back. When Lorenzo doesn’t respond, the school bell filling the silence, Lorenzo turns away. “We can talk later. I’m going to class,” He storms off, entering the classroom. Evan follows, not satisfied.

He sits down in his chair, whirling around. “I’m not finished,” he demands under his breath. “Your explanation isn’t good enough.”

“Look, I’m the one who should be mad at you,” Lorenzo hisses through his teeth. “I’m getting teased too. They think it’s me.”

Evan feels every joint in his body go stiff.

Head still throbbing, he sucks in a breath.

“...It’s not?”

Surprise and another emotion flashes in Lorenzo’s eyes as he blinks. “No,” He says slowly. The surprise is masked now as anger surfaces on his countenance. “Maybe next time, think before you cheat on me with a someone you don’t even _know_.”

Every word is like another arrow to the heart.

Actually, Evan is convinced his heart is going to stop altogether. Fainting from blood loss would be better than the humiliation of this public argument. He feels the eyes of his classmates pouring on them, drinking in every word.

“I’m not..” He splutters. “I wasn’t…we’re just...”

“Whatever, Evan,” Lorenzo turns his head away. “Maybe we both got what we deserved. And this is just a sign that it’s not going to work out.”

Evan wants to say something else, but he finds himself rising to his feet. Feeling the eyes of his classmates on him - including Connor, standing gape-mouthed in the doorway - he grabs his bookbag again and bolts out of the room. He’d go back up to his usual hiding place, but tech theater would sure to rat him out this time, so he finds himself following wherever his legs blindly carry him.

Supposedly, hiding underneath the football bleachers is the best option in his mind-numbed state, and he slides down the chain-link fence, wincing at how it cuts up his back through his shirt.

He types a message to Leo.

 **@evan:** You know, the least you could do is tell me who you are, so I don’t have to endure this alone.

He realizes after a moment that the bleachers are nowhere near as nice as his usual spot on the roof. It’s hot, there’s a wasps’ nest above him, and a couple of burnouts are giving him the eye from a distance, but he can’t be bothered to care.

Until he senses a presence beside him.

“Yo,” He hears. Evan hardly looks up from his huddled state to see Connor leaning against the fence, looking up. “You are aware you’re underneath a wasps’ nest, right?”

“Don’t care,” Evan’s voice is muffled and raw with exhaustion.

“Hansen,” Connor places a hand on his leg. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Evan lies; a reflex. His eyes cast down to Connor’s hand. He notices the knuckles are bruised a soft pink, a cut underneath the ring finger. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh. Funny story,” Connor says in the voice that tells Evan that it’s not. “I punched that exchange student in the face, because he was being a dick. And then he hit me, and we were both sent to the principal. But I came here instead. Wanted to check up on you.”

Evan looks up a little more. He notices a yellowish bruise underneath Connor’s eye, on the high point of his cheekbone. “How’d you know I was here?”

“This is where I come when I get sick of school,” Connor shrugs halfheartedly. “A real fucking paradise.” His stops mid-laugh when Evan covers Connor’s hand with his.

“You didn’t have to do that,” He whispers softly, so only the two of them can hear. Evan’s fingers trace the curve of the knuckle, past the cut, soft and breath-like.

Connor’s breathing goes funny and he clears his throat. “I did. He was being an ass to you. Who breaks up with someone in front of an entire class?”

The words ring in Evan’s head. Repeating, mercilessly. _Break up. Break up. It’s over._

All of this, Leo, Lorenzo, everything in between, it’s all his fault.

None of this should have happened.

Maybe this new life isn’t supposed to work out after all.

“Come on,” Connor pats his leg. “Let’s get out of here. Daylight can’t stop us from going somewhere fun.”

Evan shakes his head. “I have to get back to class.”

Connor studies him a moment, curiously, and shrugs again. “Suit yourself. And hey, I’ll cover for you today at work. Take the afternoon off. Go to the beach or something.”

Evan thinks that’s his cue to leave, but he doesn’t. He stays right there, quietly, picking at grass and humming a familiar song until the bell rings in the distance, and Evan watches his softened features out of the corner of his eye the entire time, the faintest of smiles on his lips.

\- - - -

Out of all his classes, Evan thought English would be the least painful to make it through.

Turns out it is the worst.

The moment he shuffles into English, he feels the eyes of half the class on him. He practically _hears_ the grin spreading across Rich’s acne-scarred face, and as Evan moves towards his seat, Rich leans in and mutters to Jake. Evan tries to block out the words, but it’s no use. “Hey, you think Evan likes to suck dick in the bathrooms?” Rich jokes.

“Probably, man,” Jake agrees. “No wonder he ran off with Murphy before the play.”

“We should’ve all seen it coming, dude.”

“Oh, I bet _he_ did.”

He hides his head in his hands as Rich elbows Jake, and the two make a set of inappropriate noises and gestures that make Evan wish for the world to swallow him whole. He can’t stand the whispers, the stares, and when he looks towards Jeremy for help, Jeremy casts his eyes away, uninterested. And slightly guilty.

Evan raises his hand right before the bell rings, looking towards the teacher. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Faggot,” Rich coughs.

“What the _fuck_ did you say?” Michael shouts from one row over, jumping from his seat and moving towards Rich. “I’ll _kill_ you, asshole!”

“Hey!” Ms. Doherty shouts so loudly, the entire class goes silent, frozen with fear. “Rich, Michael, to the office.”

“But Rich--”

 _“Now,”_ She points towards the door. “Don’t come back into my classroom saying those words in my presence ever again. Both of you.”

Michael clenches his hands into fists, shoving them into his jacket pockets, whereas Rich looks mildly pleased with himself. He hisses something incomprehensible under his breath and glares silent daggers into Rich’s tank top as they grab their bags and exit the classroom.

Nothing is said about the exchange for the rest of the class, and Evan keeps his eyes focused on his desk until the class ends. When the students pour out of the trailer, Evan slowly packs up his bag as Ms. Doherty watches him worriedly.

“Evan?”

“Wha-- yes?” Evan looks up, surprised.

“I’ve been calling your name four times, sweetie,” She says lightly, but Evan can sense the sadness in her voice. “You okay?”

“I’m alright,” Evan mumbles softly, focusing on tucking his papers just-so into his folder.

“I remember high school. Everyone made fun of me for my weight. Kids are just so awful…” She trails off. Evan wants to be sympathetic, but he’s so emotionally drained all he can do is nod half-heartedly. “If you ever need to talk about anything, let me know.”

“Thanks,” He nods quickly, not planning on taking her up on her offer. He didn’t want to plague her with his thoughts and worries; she isn’t his therapist, and he’s fine on his own. His feelings are stupid anyway. He’ll get over it. He always does.

He exits the room quickly, briefly catching her hopeful smile, but he doesn’t return it.

\- - - -

Evan decides to take Connor’s advice and takes a walk that evening, losing track of time until he finds himself at the beach. It’s one of the chillier fall afternoons, so he grabs a jacket - Connor’s - and kicks up sand, watching the waves rise and fall. It’s so peaceful, he almost forgets about everything.

Almost.

Evan finally gets a response from Leo that night, when he’s sitting on the shoreline and watching the sunset.

 **@leo:** i can’t do that. no one knows i’m out.

Deciding the sunset can wait, Evan types out a quick reply.

 **@evan:** It’s not about them. It’s about you and me. You always said that school was filled with idiots anyway.

 **@evan:**  ...Can’t you just tell me?

It takes a few minutes for Leo to respond. Evan's hands shake when he reads the message.

 **@leo:** there’s just so much going on, and you are… everything.

 **@leo** : you’re the only one in my life that makes sense. i can’t lose you either.

Evan bites his lip. He refuses to lose his best friend; but to what, he isn’t sure yet.

 **@evan** : you won’t. I promise.

 **@leo:**  you know, promises are worse than lies.

Evan tries to type out a response, something along the lines of _but promises give us hope,_ but there's no point. _@leo is offline._ When he looks up, the sunset is gone, and the sky is dark.

A sea wind bites through him and he hugs the jacket around him tighter, digging his hands into the coat pockets when he feels something unfamiliarly familiar. He takes out the object, cradling it in his hands. Cheerful orange, childproof cap.

He reads the label. _Fluoxetine,_ and below it, _Murphy, Connor._ The brand name, the green and white capsules in the bottles stacked up on his windowsill, it’s all familiar. _Too_ familiar.

Tucking the pill bottle back into the pocket, he silently walks home, skipping out on family dinner and curling into bed.

His phone alights with a message just as he drifts off to sleep hours later.

 **@leo:** i’m sorry.

\- - - -

Connor doesn’t show up to school for a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! sorry for the long waiting time for a new update!! i've been quite busy with dance practice every night and work every weekend but now i have a /little/ more free time!! i have a vague idea of where i want this to go now so probably a few more chapters?? idk i feel like this story doesn't need to go on forever, lol.
> 
> also, i committed to a college! yay!!! #senioryear #imscaredlol
> 
> dont forget to leave kudos and comments! i reply to every single one, i love you guys (and your continual support) so much!! :D


	19. nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i literally have no excuses. i'm just a lazy ass who procrastinated on finishing this for two weeks, lmao. enjoy i guess?
> 
> (warning: light angst, suggestion of self harm + suicide, boys kissing)

Tuesday. Psychology class. Evan walks into Mr. O’Hare’s room and zeroes his fuzzy vision on the doorway. He waits for Lorenzo to stroll in, give him the cold look that he’s been receiving from everyone else lately. Or maybe Connor will walk in late, giving him the half-smile that he does without realizing it (but Evan always does).

But Evan doesn’t receive either, because neither boy walks through the door, and Evan isn’t able to focus the entire class period.

\- - - -

Wednesday. English. The class has to pair up for a poetry analysis assignment and Zoe links her arm around Evan, pulling him into the seat next to hers. Evan asks Zoe where Connor is, to which she replies monotonously, “Home. He’s suspended.” 

Evan notices Jeremy is working with Brooke, the girl from the party, and Michael’s in the corner, headphones on and head ducked underneath his hoodie. At one point, Michael looks towards Jeremy sadly, and few minutes later, Jeremy with a similar expression, one that quickly morphs into forced apathy as he tears his gaze away.

\- - - -

Thursday. Lunch. Evan checks his messages to Leo. Since his odd message from Monday night, he’s only sent more weird messages, like he’s talking but he isn’t hearing Evan’s words. He supposes right now is no different.

**@leo:** i was reading about dark matter online today. do you know what that is? 

**@evan:** Leo, come on. Why are you being so weird? 

**@leo:** supposedly it’s like the missing mass of the universe. it’s there, but no light passes through it. i guess it’s like an invisible black hole.

**@leo:** i kind of feel like that sometimes. like my heart is a star, and when it exploded into a supernova, all it left was a black hole. 

**@evan:** Nothing escapes the void.

**@leo:** exactly.

\- - - - 

Thursday. Psychology. Evan senses the presence of Lorenzo, who loudly drops his bookbag on the floor, slides into his seat, and pulls out his laptop. Evan sneaks a look at him; there is a bandaid on his nose, covering a yellow bruise. Lorenzo doesn’t look at him the whole period, focusing only on his note taking.

Connor doesn’t show up.

Evan texts him nervously.  _ Where are you?  _ He doesn’t get a text back, but he does see that Leo sent him an article on Stigma a few hours ago.

_ Link: The Universe is Slowly Swallowing us Whole. _

Evan reads a bit of the article, from the archives of the NASA database page.  _ A new black hole, found 400 billion light years away, has the mass of 6.6 billion suns, and could slowly swallow the entire solar system.  _ He tears his eyes away, seeing Leo left a message as well.

**@leo:** not fast enough. 

\- - - -

Friday morning. Math class. Zoe seems to be avoiding his pointed stare all class period, focused intently on the teacher - whose lecture was  _ not  _ exciting enough to grasp her attention for the entire hour - and stops her as the bell rings before she can run off.

She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “What is it, Evan?” She asks tiredly, failing to meet his eye. Again.

“I just...” Evan picks at his nails unconsciously. “Lorenzo’s back in school and… shouldn’t Connor be back, too?”

“He should be,” Zoe shuts him down quickly. She brushes by him, not looking back. Evan thinks he hears her mutter  _ But he’s not.  _

Evan rushes after her. “Can you just tell him I--”

She whirls around, cutting him off. At least she’s looking at him now. “Tell him yourself,” She hisses. Evan pauses, dumbfounded, as she marches off angrily, wondering if it was something he said. 

\- - - -

Friday afternoon. After several minutes of pacing around his room nervously (which, in turn, makes Jared shout “shut up” from downstairs and poking at the ceiling with a broom), Evan grabs his backpack and heads to his backyard. He climbs through the foliage and through the gate of Connor’s backyard, slowly heading up the front steps.

When he rings the doorbell, no one comes to the door for a minute. Evan is just about to head down the stairs when he hears the door unlock, revealing a man. He’s similar to Connor, the same angular features and tall build, but there is a hardness in his aquamarine eyes that are different to Connor’s. 

“Can I help you?” He demands politely, but Evan winces at the impatient edge to his voice.

“Um, yeah. I’m looking for Connor?” It comes out as a question. He digs through his backpack and grabs the first thing he sees - a bright orange folder - as if he remembers why he’s here. “I have, um, homework! Yeah. AP Psychology notes that he’s missed.”

“Connor isn’t home right now,” The man that Evan assumes to be is his father says firmly.

“Wha- where is he?”

_ Didn’t Zoe say he was at home? _

“That’s none of your business,” The man frowns. “Have a good day.” 

“W-Wait!” Evan shouts quickly. The door is almost completely shut, but he pulls it back open briefly, watching Evan expectantly. “C-Could you just tell Connor that Evan’s worried about him? To call me or something?”

“Oh. So  _ you’re  _ Evan,” The man looks him up and down, studying his appearance carefully. Evan suddenly wishes he changed out of his polo; he feels too dressed up and stuffy. “The one he got suspended over. I’m assuming you know about his ‘stunt for attention’ then?”

“Stunt for-- what?” Evan repeats incredulously. “What did he do?”

The man watches him for a moment. He shakes his head in the condescending sort of way that makes his blood boil and a chill run down his spine at the same time. “You really don’t know him at all, do you?” 

Evan freezes.

His words scare Evan more than he realizes, because he’s right. Evan’s always been so selfish, wrapped up in his own problems all the time that he’s never taken the time to really get to know Connor. Hell, he doesn’t even know what his favorite color is.

_ It’s time to fix that, _ Evan decides.

But before Evan can say anything else, he sighs. “Have a good evening, Evan. And I’d appreciate it if you’d stay away from my son from now on. I don’t need him getting into any more trouble at school.” 

And with that, he locks the door, leaving a frazzled Evan on the front porch.

Evan trods home dejectedly, trying to push down the anger bubbling in his stomach. When he heads back inside, he smells food cooking and ventures into the kitchen to stress-eat. Heidi is at the stove, stirring a pot of what smells like seasoned broccoli. 

“Hey, sweetie,” Heidi greets him. “Did you see your friend?”

Evan tosses the folder down on the counter loudly and huffs into a barstool. “Nope. Because his dad wouldn’t tell me where he is.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She puts down the ladle and leans against the counter, watching him as he absentmindedly flips through the mail on the counter.

“I don’t know if he’s at home or not. His dad wouldn’t even let me inside. He said that he is ‘pulling an attention stunt’,” Evan mimics with quotations, “And practically slammed the door in my face.”

“Oh, Evan, I’m sorry,” Heidi steps towards him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder.

Evan shakes his head: what’s the point of her being sorry? He’s the one who’s massively screwed up. “And normally I’d text him, but Connor won’t even answer his freaking texts!” Evan cries into his hands. “I’m just worried about him.”

“Connor? Um, is his last name Murphy?”

Evan pulls his hands away and stares at her wide-eyed. “Yeah…?” He asks slowly. “H-How did you…?”

“Know?” She guesses. “I didn’t. But a boy named Connor checked into the hospital a few nights ago. But he’s under my care wing, and he looked about your age, so I guess I just, figured…?”

“H-H-Hospital?” Evan’s face goes pale. Heidi’s expression morphs into one of concern as he shoots up from his chair. “Mom. Why didn’t you tell me? What happened?” 

“Evan, I can’t… I’m not allowed to disclose information about patients--”

“Mom!” Evan’s voice is raw, desperate. 

She looks at him painfully, digging in a drawer. She reveals her car keys, and tosses them into Evan’s hand. Evan stares at his palms, wondering what he should do with them. He spots a tourist keychain from her cruise with Peter, and frowns slightly. “Don’t crash the car,” Heidi tells him. “Go see him.”

Evan clutches them tightly in his fist. “Thank you, Mom,” He looks up at her, teary-eyed, and she smiles warmly. As he’s about to head out the back door, she calls out to him. “Yeah?” He pokes his head back through the door. 

“He’s not  _ just  _ a friend, is he?” She smiles knowingly.

Evan’s flushed, taken-aback face gives her all the answer she needs.

\- - - -

Technically, Evan has his license. He got it a month after he turned sixteen. But does he drive? Not often. 

He’s so nervous to get the car running, he slams on the brake before he even turns the key in the ignition. Cringing at his own idiocy, he turns the key and feels the rumble of his mom’s Sentra underneath his seat. He grasps the wheel and backs out of the driveway slowly, having to shift forward a few times to make sure he doesn’t hit the mailbox.

But once he’s on the highway, he finds himself digging his foot into the acceleration pedal more and more, until he’s merged in the fast lane and he’s pushing eighty, glad he’s avoided suburban LA’s rush hour traffic.

He’s forgotten how exhilarating driving is. The feeling of freedom, going this fast. If he really wanted, he could be anywhere in the country within a few days. He could go  _ home _ . 

Though, there’s a new home that he’s found. In the form of a person. And Evan isn’t stopping until he gets there.

Evan exhales a breath he doesn’t know he’s holding when he rolls into the visitor parking lot of the Alta Bates Summit, the fancy hospital where his mom works.  _ The rich people hospital,  _ Jared had remarked once. Well, based on Connor’s house, his family must be well off enough to check him in here.

_ Connor’s in there,  _ Evan reminds himself, his heart twisting in his throat.  _ But he better be safe. _ He gulps, headed into the front desk.

The check-in process is a blur. Evan’s just made it to visiting hours with ten minutes to spare; the secretary signs him up and types something into the computer, Evan’s given a sticky pass to put on his shirt, and he’s directed to the third floor. When in the elevator, Evan notices signs next to each floor.  _ One, food court, front desk. Two, post surgery. Three, intensive care unit.  _

_ Shit. Shit shit shit shitshitshitshi-- _

Evan doesn’t stop running until he’s found the room number and he’s burst through the door without knocking.

“Hansen? What the  _ fu _ \--” Connor’s words are lost against Evan’s shoulder as he flings himself into Connor’s arms, giving him what might be the most awkward - and mildly painful - hug in existence. “Hansen, what are you doing here?”

Evan pulls away, frowning like a child. “W-What are  _ you  _ doing here?” He demands. “Why didn’t you respond to my texts? Is your phone dead or something? Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me what was going on? I was so worried something had happened, I couldn’t slee--”

“Evan, I’m _ fine, _ ” Connor insists, laughing a little, in that slightly-broken way he always does. “Now, you’re talking a lot. It’s kind of freaking me out.”

Evan laughs, trying to push aside the fact Connor just slipped out his first name. He’s watching Evan in this confused, doe-eyed way, like he’s surprised and relieved all at once to see him. Evan only now notices the bandages around his wrists, and he pulls back, sitting on the side of the hospital bed and grabbing his hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He whispers, his fingers delicately trailing bruised knuckles.  _ From when he punched Lorenzo, _ Evan reminds himself.

“No,” Connor pulls away quickly. When Evan’s face falls in defeat, he sighs. “No, that came out wrong. I’m sorry. I fucked up-- just… I want you here with me. Ugh. That was stupid.”

“It’s not,” Evan shakes his head. “You didn’t fuck up. I’m here. And you’re here too.”

“Chances are one in a billion,” Connor smiles a little, and Evan meets his smile with his lips, drowning in everything Connor, from his tangled hair to the curve of his mouth. Slow and soft, it’s comforting in a way that words can never be, as Connor’s hand curls protectively below Evan’s ear, thumb gently brushing across his cheek, the touch so sensitive but mind-numbing it nearly knocks the wind out of Evan completely. The warmth of his touch radiates throughout his entire body, and Evan is so wrapped up in it all that he doesn’t hear the awkward coughing from the doorway.

Evan pulls away, tomato-faced and humiliated, his hand still resting on Connor’s chest. In the doorway is a woman, like an older, worn-down version of Zoe, holding the door open slightly and staring at them curiously.

“Oh. Hey, Mom,” Connor says so nonchalantly, it only makes Evan blush harder.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you and your… guest,” She looks away in embarrassment. Evan notices her rumpled clothes and red-rimmed eyes; although her blue eyes are almost identical to Connor’s, she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. “I wanted to let you know you’re cleared to go tonight.”

Evan turns to look at him hopefully, and he notices Connor’s expression is just a little more duller. “Cool,” He deadpans. “Can I have a moment to say goodbye?” She nods, closing the door without another word. Connor pulls him closer, leaning into his ear. “Come stay with me tonight. The window will be unlocked.”

Evan tries not to shiver. He nods, not trusting his voice right now. He practically feels Connor’s smile against his skin, that stupid smile, the one that threatens to unravel him. 

“On one condition,” Evan tells him. “You’ll tell me everything.”

Connor’s teasing smile slips away, and he looks serious. Evan thinks he’s going to say no, which is why he’s surprised to see Connor shrug. “Okay.”


	20. twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i heard about this weird conspiracy going around something about connor being @leo??? it's time to address that theory RIGHT NOW kiddos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry for the delay in updating (again), i have 4 finals i've been preparing for plus i work like 20 hours a week soooo :')
> 
> hope you enjoy this (extra long) chapter! it's a juicy one, hehe. special climax chapter bc it's my birthday tomorrow (5/6)!! help, i'm gonna be an adult,,, how do ya do it 
> 
> to be honest this story is going to unwind from here so it'll probably be wrapped up in a few more chapters!! but i do have two new fic ideas for deh (maybe bmc in there too??) but i also wanna write a bmc fic soooooooo... we'll see
> 
> ok long rant over! see ya in the comments!

Evan is almost positive the world is moving slower on its axis, or the clock on his bedside table is broken, because the more time ticks along painfully slowly, the more his hands get clammy and he has to change his shirt (again).

“Tonight,” He says the word slowly, like he’s testing it out.

The more he thinks about it, all words are so arbitrary; the English language itself is just a series of sounds that when strung together, mean something. And yet he can’t figure out this very one. 

“Connor said to come tonight,” He whispers to himself as he paces his room. “Does tonight mean at dark?” He looks towards the window; the sun hasn’t even begun to set. “No,” he turns the other way. “Maybe super late, when everyone’s asleep. Does he mean our usual time? Or maybe--”

He flops on his bed face-first, heaving an exasperated sigh.  _ Would it be too much to text him? _

Evan had never realized how nervous he gets at things like this. Well, that’s a lie. He knows his anxiety is annoying and difficult as hell, but that’s with common things, like ordering at the McDonald’s drive-thru or giving the pizza man a tip. But when it came to Connor, things were always so  _ easy;  _ he never had to think about what to say or if he sounded stupid. 

Until now. 

Hmm. Who knew kissing someone turned your entire world upside down. 

He isn’t sure to turn to for advice; Zoe will surely spill anything Evan says straight to Connor, Michael’s got his own issues to work out, Jeremy is just… weird, lately, and Jared is simply out of the question. The guy would probably laugh in his face and tell him to stop being so gay. Which is why Evan never wanted him to know about him and Lorenzo, but that blew up in his face. 

He can’t exactly go to his parents, either, since they don’t know about his secret. So he supposes there’s only one person he can turn to. The person he’d go to originally, except he’s been impossible to understand lately. 

Evan bites his lip as he types out a message. 

**@evan:** Okay. So, I don’t know if you care or anything, because I know you haven’t been acting normal lately, but I need your help.

He sees the typing bubbles of Leo’s response and instantly panics, gripping his phone case harder.

**@evan:** Nevermind, this is stupid. Forget I said anything.

**@leo:** evan, shut up and tell me.

**@evan:** I can’t shut up and talk at the same time, you know. Very counterintuitive. And now I’m being even more stupid. Sorry. 

**@leo:** you’re not stupid. just tell me.

**@evan:** Okay. So, I know I haven’t talked to you much, and I know we’ve been fighting a lot, but I wanted to let you know that part of the reason why I’ve been more distant lately is because I… found someone. Honestly, I used to like you, but when I met him, I just… I don’t know. Everything changed. But he got hurt, and I’m really worried about him. I’m afraid I don’t even know him at all, but I want to. So badly. He doesn’t seem like the type to let people into his life, but I think he’s starting to open up to me and I just???

**@evan:** I just don’t want to screw it up with him. Because I like him so much, I feel like my heart is going to explode. (In the good way.)

**@evan:** And he said to come over tonight and idk what ”tonight” means and i’mjustreallyfreakingoutsopleasehelp.

He exhales, having been holding a nervous breath of air the entire time. Leo’s typing now, and it takes all his willpower not to chuck his phone at the wall and hide underneath his bed. Unfortunately, he reads the response before thinking twice.

**@leo:** quit worrying and just go see him.

**@evan:** Now????

**@leo:** yes.

“Okay!” Evan whispers to no one. He feels like he has his Leo back, and with this newfound confidence and excitement, Evan jumps off his bed and grabs his Converse, barely remembering to tie the laces as he unlocks his window and slings one leg over. He’s just about to reach out and grab the tree branch when he hears a voice.

“Evan! Want to join in on-- um, what do you think you’re doing?”

Evan shouts in surprise, grabbing onto the windowsill to steady himself from falling out of it. He spots Peter in the doorway, a pastel pink apron that reads  _ Kiss the Cook  _ tied around his waist. There is a mixture of confusion and amusement on his expression.

“There was a, um, a bug,” Evan looks at the branch. “I didn’t want to kill it, you know? God’s creatures and all that?”

Peter is only amused now. “And you decided to climb out your window to do so?”

“I can’t just throw it off. It’ll die,” Evan furrows his brow. Peter laughs, shaking his head.

“We know you sneak out, Evan,” Peter says in a more serious tone, and Evan’s blood runs cold. “Your mom and I aren’t idiots. But we figure you’re safe, so we’re okay with you having some fun in your senior year.”

“Um… does that mean I can go?” Evan points behind him, towards the awaiting tree.

“Absolutely not. It’s family bonding time!” Peter crosses the room and tugs him through the window, Evan’s feet landing on the bedroom side. Unfortunately. “We’re watching the Avengers. Come on, your mom said it was your favorite…!”

Evan suppresses his excited smile. “Well, okay, I guess,” He tries not to look too excited. Although he’s more used to his soon-to-be stepfather’s annoyingly cheerful attitude (similar to Jared’s hyperactivity, but less asshole-y), he isn’t exactly the type for father-son bonding. 

Especially considering he already has a father. 

Had. 

Whatever. 

“We got sushi, too,” Peter tosses his arm around Evan in the supportive fatherly way he both detests and misses dearly, and they fall in step into the den, where Evan spots two trays of sushi and a giant bowl of popcorn.

Evan hums to himself happily as he reaches for a spicy roll when Jared shushes him out of the blue, to which he whispers, “I didn’t even say anything,” and Jared throws a piece of popcorn at the side of his head. Evan just rolls his eyes, loads sushi on his plate, and slides in the spot next to his mom, resting his head on her forehead.

“Glad you joined us, honey,” Heidi whispers softly enough so only the two can hear. “I haven’t seen much of you lately. Busy with school and friends, right?”

“Something like that,” Evan shrugs, suddenly feeling really guilty. He hasn’t let her in on anything happening in school, neither the good nor the bad. The teasing and the bullies, the new friends he’s made, Lorenzo,  _ Connor _ . 

As the movie plays, Evan finds himself more increasingly distracted, and not by Chris Evans, but by the weight of the cell phone in his pocket. He never responded to Leo’s message, and he can’t tell if Connor would be waiting for him right now. The movie doesn’t end for another hour and a half, and Evan’s positive he can’t make it that long.

He’s squirming in his seat so much, in fact, Jared - who is seemingly an even bigger Marvel nerd than Evan - yells at him to “sit still or face his Thanos wrath”, which is both annoying and actually somewhat terrifying. Still, he has so much in his head, twisting around in his mind, suffocating him, that he loses all ability to focus on the movie. 

He checks his messages. He sees he has a notification on Stigma.

**@leo:** also, i met someone too.

Evan can’t help but grin; hearing Leo sound so bluntly sappy makes his heart fill with joy. 

**@evan:** That’s great! I hope you’re happy with him or her. :)

**@leo:** i am happy. which is weird. and terrifying. but he’s worth it.

Evan smiles even wider. He makes a mental note to look for gay couples around his school to see if he can indirectly figure out who Leo is. 

Weirdly enough, he doesn’t care as much; if he had known at the beginning of the school year, he would’ve freaked out with jealousy. But now, as the seasons change a little more every day, his silly schoolgirl crush on Leo fades a little more, and his heart beats a little faster at Connor’s name.

Which is why his breath hitches in his throat when he sees a series of texts from Connor appear.

_ I miss you, you know. _

_ That was sappy as fuck. Forget I said that.  _

_ But come over, I’m bored and my dad won’t let me leave my room. _

Evan looks around at his family. Jared is so immersed in the movie that his hand, filled with popcorn, is suspended in midair during the fight scene. Peter is just as invested, an entire sushi tray now on his lap. His mom looks tired, resting her chin on her hand, eyes half-lidded. Evan knows she worked a twelve-hour shift today, yet she’s still making the effort to be there for family movie night. She seems to notice him staring at her, and picks up on his anxious expression.

“What’s wrong?” She whispers, just quiet enough for the two of them to hear. Evan realizes in this moment just how much his mom does for him everyday; everything for him, from giving him a new family to working double shifts to keep him in school, new clothes and summer camps, therapy and early morning hugs. All for him. And he couldn’t be more lucky. 

“Mom, I…” His face scrunches up as he tries to form the words he wants to say but has been unable to for months. She looks at him worriedly, all attention away from the movie. Evan speaks softly, hesitantly, picking at his cuticles. “I just wanted to let you know that um, I’m bisexual. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” She cocks her head in confusion. “Don’t be _ sorry,  _ Evan. I’m just glad you’re willing to tell me this part of yourself.”

“Really?” Evan looks hopeful. His anxiousness is replaced with overwhelming emotion, threatening to spill out of his eyes. 

“Even though I could already tell…” She trails off, a knowing smile on her face. “I mean, you’re always texting someone on your phone. And then you were so worried about Connor, I just put the pieces together.”

“I’m worried about him, Mom,” Evan whispers, looking down at his lap. 

She grabs his hand, squeezing it protectively. “Go see him,” She grins. Then, she stands up, stretching out her arms and yawning dramatically. “Wow! I’m exhausted. Finish the movie without me guys. I’m off to bed.” She looks towards her son and winks.

Evan jumps up. “I’m gonna sleep too,” He announces quickly. Jared glares at him, careening around him to see the screen, and he smiles gratefully at his mom before grabbing a box of sushi, looping around the kitchen, slipping through the back door. 

The nighttime air feels crisp and cool on his face, the sinking moon welcoming him to freedom. The world shines through a filter of streetlamps and cityscapes, like the moon has melted over the city. Evan doesn’t even look back as he bolts through his backyard and into the forest, climbing through thorns and thickets. He kicks up dust on the footpath but doesn’t care, not stopping until he’s through the Murphy’s squealing fence gate and staring up the house. He can see that the bedroom window is cracked open slightly. 

Climbing up the arbor proves to be a challenge with a package of sushi in one hand, but Evan harbors all athletic ability (which isn’t much), thankful for years of tree climbing skills. By the time his feet hit the roof, breathing heavily, Connor’s by the window, looking at him with an anumed smile that makes Evan’s chest hurt in the best way possible.

His fingers curl through his hair nervously. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Evan says just as sheepishly.

“Want to come in?” Connor pushes the window open a little more, fingers tapping rapidly on the windowsill.

“Actually, I quite like the chance of impending death on this slanted roof,” Evan jokes, and Connor stares at him blankly for a moment, as if to figure out if he’s joking, and rolls his eyes playfully. “Kidding. Sorry.”

“Just come on.” 

Evan slips through the window, nearly stumbling over as he slides of the windowsill and hits carpet. Catching himself not-so-subtly, he holds out the package. “Um…” He looks away. “I brought you sushi.”

“Fuck yes,” Connor hisses excitedly. “I’ve been living on hospital food for three days.” He grabs the box and plops on his bed, kicking his feet up. He looks at Evan judgingly. “Well? Sit down or something. You’re making me nervous just standing there.”

Connor’s acting so oddly normal, Evan wonders if he’s made up this afternoon in his head. But then he sees the bandages peeking out from underneath his worn-out hoodie, and remembers the warmth from their kiss when he closes his eyes, and he knows things are different somehow. But he sits down anyway, on the edge of the bed, folding his hands in his lap. 

Connor chews, Evan sits. It’s silent for a few minutes, three hundred painstakingly long seconds that thicken the air and make the tension almost palpable. 

“So…” Evan draws out the syllable awkwardly as he looks around the room, admiring a tour poster for a band he’s never heard of, tacked next to a Hamilton playbill. “What do you want to do?”

Connor sets down the empty tray on his bedside table and stares at him for a moment. Evan blinks in confusion. “This,” He says after a moment, grabbing Evan’s wrist and pulling him towards him. 

Connor’s mouth melts into him like ice cream on summer vacation, and Evan finds himself on top of the taller boy. Evan relishes in the taste, wishing he could map out every curve of his lips and unravel the pains in his mind.

They’re kissing slowly, and it feels like time has sped up and slowed down all at once. Evan’s hands explore the dips and angles underneath Connor’s hoodie, and Evan feels static shocks wherever Connor’s lips graze his neck, fingers tracing constellations from every touch.

Maybe it’s only for a few seconds, or perhaps hours have passed, but eventually Connor pulls away. Having flipped Evan over, he looks down on him with a faraway expression. His features, usually guarded and sharp, have relaxed. Evan notices he’s even blushing softly, a rare but enjoyable occurrence. Evan can’t help but reach up towards him and run his fingers along his jawline, and when Connor leans in to his touch, Evan can feel the warmth of his skin radiate off his fingertips.

“What are you thinking right now?” Evan wonders aloud, because he can’t figure it out for the life of him. 

“Just how…” Connor admits, voice barely audible if it weren’t for the fact Evan’s attention is weaved through every syllable. “You actually make me  _ feel  _ something, I guess.”

It’s Evan’s turn to blush. He tilts his head up so they’re eye to eye. “Me too,” He agrees softly. “...I’m so glad. That this is happening. That we’re happening,” He’s rambling, distracted by long eyelashes and the searing pressure between them. “Sorry. I’m stupi--”

Connor shuts him up by sealing their lips together again. Evan feels his heart tie in knots and soft blue hues explode underneath his eyelids. He pulls away after a moment, holding their faces close. “You’re not,” Connor insists. And with another kiss, he says it again: “You’re not stupid.”

Evan’s mouth quivers into a smile. As Connor rolls over lazily, flopping on the other side of the bed, Evan turns on his opposite side, noticing something he’d been too nervous before to see. 

It is a stack of art supplies cluttered in the corner; a rainbow of acrylic paint bottles (except, strangely, the color green), oil pastels, newspaper to protect the carpet, brushes of all shapes and sizes, and two large canvases, one half-finished, one barely started. Evan notices a sketchbook sitting on his bedside table, open to a page of doodles.

“What’s this?” He can’t help but inquire, sliding off the bed and kneeling down to inspect the half-finished canvas a bit more. It is a drawing of a falling boy, his arm outstretched, just barely missing the grasp of a wispy tree branch. Shades of blue and indigo seem to mix together into a murky black abyss at the bottom of the painting, where the boy is quickly slipping towards. 

It reminds him of something. Something he hides every day. Something he’s only told one person before.

Connor, having just peeled off his hoodie and tossing it on the floor, rolls on his side and inspects the artwork. “Nothing,” He mutters. “Just something.“

“For what?” 

“A portfolio,” Connor mumbles under his breath in a rush. “It’s not that good, I know.”

“No, no!” Evan shakes his head, immediately disagreeing. He wants nothing more than to reach out and feel the painting, trace his fingers along the paint strokes and feel the texture of emotions poured into the canvas. It’s the first piece of art he’s ever seen by Connor, and he’s addicted. “It’s r-really good. What’s the portfolio for?”

“An application,” Connor whispers. “Art school. Calarts.”

“I didn’t know you liked art this much,” Evan muses aloud, unable to take his eyes away from the painting. It gives him an unsettling feeling, one he can’t shake.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Hansen,” Connor retorts dully, in a quiet sort of way that’s just as scary as yelling, turning the other direction.

After a moment, Evan scrambles up on the bed and rests his head on the pillow. “So tell me, then,” he insists to the back of Connor’s head. He wills Connor to turn around. Maybe if he does, Evan can reach out to him. And things can be better.  

Connor pauses for a moment, and then he gets off the bed to turn off the lights, lock his door, and flop back down in his original position, except now staring up at the ceiling. 

“I think at some point in time, life was better around here,” Connor muses, not looking at Evan. His soft voice is sharp and sarcastic, and it sends a chill down Evan’s spine. “My parents must’ve been happy enough to marry. It just never felt like they really were, because all I’ve known is them fighting.”

Evan is silent, eyes trained on the moonlit silhouette of Connor’s profile.

“When I was a kid, they at least hid it from me a bit more. Always telling me to ‘ _ just ask your father’,  _ or ‘ _ tell your mother I’m not coming down for dinner’.  _ My dad got more wrapped up in work, and was probably cheating on my mom at one point, but the two stayed together anyway. They wanted to keep our family “normal”. Except they made it so much fucking worse below the surface.”

Evan forces himself to keep a straight face as Connor whispers faster, angrier with every word.

“Of course, they still wanted to protect  _ Zoe _ . They couldn’t get enough of the fact their daughter was in band, had perfect grades, and dozens of friends. But they couldn’t stand the boy in her shadow, the one who would  _ never _ be as good as her,” His voice gets louder, but Evan is too afraid to shush him, so he curls his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. “So I gave up on trying to keep them happy, because I knew they never would be. I did whatever the fuck I want, just to piss them off. But also because, why care about myself if they don’t? I know they just want me gone. It would be so much fucking easier on them.”

“Connor, that’s some messed up logic,” Evan says softly, reaching over to grab his hand. He turns Connor towards him, who still can’t meet his eye. Evan stares at his eyelashes, wishing the anger in his irises would dissolve, and continues to listen.

“I mean, my mom does. Sort of. When I was younger, she’d sing me to sleep and take me to places like the orchard. She gave me these glow stars instead of night lights, to ‘keep the bad guys away’. I still have them…” Connor looks up. Evan senses their faint green glow, but keeps his eyes trained on Connor.

“I think she actually wants to get me better instead of punish me, but my dad ‘doesn’t believe in pills’, or something stupid, and my mom doesn’t have the guts to try.” Connor pauses, and something in his face locks, and he clenches his jaw.

“The man is rolling in money and can’t even bother to get his kid medicine to help him from feeling like wanting to die every day. He just gets more mad every time I try to leave. Doesn’t he know I’m trying to give him what he wants? I’m trying... I know he can’t wait to kick me out when I turn eighteen. He tries to hide it, but he fucking hates me. And I hate him too.” 

Connor hasn’t noticed Evan’s crying by now. 

“...A-At least you h-have a dad,” He splutters out, his voiced laced with anger and jealousy. Connor’s eyes go wide briefly, and he looks up to see tears filling Evan’s eyes. He looks up expectantly and squeezes his hands tighter, a silent offering to continue.

“He was killed last year,” Evan explains breathlessly, his throat closing up. “He was a detective, and he was shot during an armed robbery. But…. but not even on the job. We were just at the bank when it happened. Total Bruce Wayne moment,” He tries to joke, although his heart isn’t in it, so it just comes out like a strangled sob. “So yeah. At least your dad is alive.”

Connor blinks, and then pulls him into a hug, burying his head into Evan’s shoulder. “Shit, Evan. That’s so awful,” His voice is muffled. “No kid should ever have to see that.”

“I miss him so much, I j-just…” Evan stumbles. His brain and mouth are disconnected; every word he wants to say gets stuck on the way down. 

“What?”

“...I wish it was me instead of him,” Evan admits as he squeezes his eyes shut, and Connor hugs him tighter. The tears are in free fall now, hot and messy and held back for over a year. He couldn’t even admit it to his therapist; the words always got stuck in his heart. Evan feels stupid for crying, especially because Connor’s the one with scarred wrists and the clouded mind, the one he’s supposed to be comforting, the other way around. 

So maybe they both just need each other. Two wrongs don’t make a right, two broken people don’t make one fixed, but band-aids are better than forgetting altogether.

Connor pulls away, his fingers tracing Evan’s cheek. “Shit. Who knew we were both so screwed up,” He jokes to lighten the mood, and Evan laughs a little, broken and hiccupy. Connor’s smile is impossible not to stare at, and he covers his eyes with the back of his arm, tilting his head away.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that… your dad is an asshole,” Evan mumbles. “But I think you should talk to your mom. Maybe the two of you can work something out.”

“I doubt she’ll--”

“No,” Evan interrupts him. “She will. Because she loves you.”

“She thinks my head’s in outer space,” Connor argues, frowning angrily. 

“Then come back down to planet Earth,” Evan insists. He’s looking at him now, drinking in the sight of watery eyes and angrily flushed cheeks. 

Connor pauses. “But from up here, the constellations light up your freckles,” He points towards the ceiling. Evan blushes, too stunned by his remark to look anywhere but the bemused smile curving on his mouth. “I like the view too much to leave.” 

“Well,” Evan retorts, biting his lip, “ _ I _ want you down here. Everyone’s waiting for you. I’m waiting for you.

Connor laughs, neither like the sarcastic laughs nor the chest-breaking, doubling-over kind. It’s soft and breathy, like he’s feeling every emotion at once yet can’t express a single one. 

“Guess I have no choice then.”

Connor leans over to steal any words Evan can’t say. Contrasting his sharp, insistent personality, Connor kisses slowly, like he’s unsure how to let anyone in. Like a waltz, they kiss gentle, soft, slow, until Evan is too impatient to deal with  _ gentle, soft, slow,  _ not after this, not after everything they’ve said and how much Evan realizes he  _ needs _ Connor. His hands move faster, the silent conversation unwinding. As their fingers curl between each other, the bandages come undone, and Evan feels his heart break, little by little.

_ I miss you too.  _

Crack.

_ Where have you been all my life?  _

Crack. 

_ Make me forget about everything else. It’s just us.  _

Crack.

_ How do you make me feel like everything is going to be okay?  _

Shatter.

The shadows slide across the walls, slinking silhouettes of unspoken words and pent-up anger at the world, and Evan can't help but feel like things will get worse before they get better. 

Evan’s here now, but he hasn’t been there for seventeen years. Years where Connor needed to have someone, anyone to fall back on. 

Better late than never, maybe, but what if he was too late?

\- - - -

“Don’t leave me tonight, okay?” Connor whispers a little later when they lie in the darkness. Evan blinks, just about to doze off, his eyes adjusting. His voice is thick with sleep, and Evan would find it attractive if it weren’t for the fact he was so tired himself.

“I promise,” Evan squeezes his hand.

Connor mumbles something incoherently.

“What did you say?”

He shifts again, turning towards Evan, who stares at his lips as he whispers, clear as day, “Promises are worse than lies.”

Evan freezes.  _ That’s familiar,  _ he thinks.  _ Too familiar to what someone’s said lately. _

As the pieces start to fit together, he looks towards Connor again. He’s about to say something, but he sees Connor’s fallen asleep by now, his grip on Evan’s hand falling loose.

So instead of waking him up - Evan knows he’s too exhausted - he finally looks towards the ceiling. The glow stars from when Connor was little are mostly faded, but their light is still visible to the eye in the complete darkness. They’re meticulously placed, in a shape that looks familiar. 

Turning on his side, he grabs his phone off the nightstand, pulling up Stigma. He sees that he has two missed notifications, a response to Evan’s comment from earlier:

**@evan:** You know, I’m glad I found you too, considering the chances. I don’t know if I’d be here today if it weren’t for you.

**@leo:** me too. chances were probably one in a billion.

**@leo:** but stranger things have happened, right?

Evan stares at the screen for a moment. He blinks. Simultaneously, his blood runs cold, and his cheeks go warm. 

Shit.

Pieces start to come together. The job at the planetarium. The disapproving father. The painting of the falling boy. It’s beyond “stranger things”; it’s impossible. 

And yet, the answer was right in front of him the entire time. He was just too blind to notice.

Once he comes back to planet earth, Evan pulls up his google app, searching on images for a specific constellation, and suddenly, his head is in outer space too. 

When he finds it, he zooms in on the picture. Sure enough, they match. 

_ Leo. _


	21. twenty-one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> made some edits so i'm reposting this! one more chapter of this two-part "epilogue" bit and then this story is over ;-;

Evan wakes to hazy twenty seconds of blissful, half-sleep oblivion, until he turns on his side and senses a presence beside him. He tenses, for a moment forgetting where he is and who he is, and relaxes when he recognizes the face underneath the tangled mess of brown hair, pushed away from his forehead. 

His eyes flicker across Connor’s face lazily. He drinks in the details of his skin, from the fading bruise underneath his left eye, long eyelashes, and slightly parted lips. Unlike his usual scowling face, his features are relaxed and smoothed out, and Evan realizes he’s never seen Connor look so unguarded, so peaceful before.

“Stop staring,” Connor murmurs, so quietly Evan thinks he may be talking in his sleep. Connor  slowly pulls his eyes open and Evan feels a warm blush crawl up his neck.  _Shit,_ he thinks, knowing he’s been caught. He probably thinks you’re a huge creep. Well, you are, watching him sleep and all--

“H-How did you--” Evan stutters, biting his lip.

“You stopped breathing there for a second,” Connor tells him simply, staring at him with both eyes now. He’s smirking, clearly enjoying this, enjoying the look on his face.

Evan’s lips curl into a smile. “What can I say?” He teases. “You just take my breath away.”

It’s Connor’s turn to blush, and he flops back down on the pillow, shielding his eyes away. “Shut up,” He mumbles, his voice muffled by the pillow. “You’re not allowed to be that smooth.”

Evan laughs softly, slowly bringing his hand up to trace Connor’s jawline with his fingers with a featherlight touch. Connor leans into his touch and his eyes flutter shut, a sleepy smile on his face, as Evan curls his fingers in his hair.

Evan feels like smiling too, drunk off happiness and sleep, and then everything suddenly stops.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Connor opens his eyes again. “What do you mean?” When Evan points towards the ceiling, at the faded constellation, Connor looks up boredly and shrugs. “Oh. I thought you knew already.”

Evan sits up, upset. “No, I didn’t,” He hisses, yanking his hand away. “Were you just messing with me, then? Was this all some game you were playing?”

Connor sits up too, frowning. “No, what the fuck, oh my--” He cuts himself. “You really didn’t know? Hansen, it was so  _obvious.._. I mean, I pieced everything together right away… you just moved but you wouldn’t say where, you always talked about an annoying step-brother, you were going to a private school, and the teacher called out your full name.”

Evan blinks back tears. “You could’ve told me you knew. It felt like you didn’t want me to know it was you. I wanted it to be you.”

“You assumed it was that dick, Lorenzo,” Connor insists, more upset than his usual anger. “But you looked happy with him, and I didn’t want to ruin that for you just for my own selfishness. And…”

“And  _what_?” Evan snaps.

“I just… I didn’t want to lose you, okay?” Connor flops back on the bed, turning away. Evan sits still, watching him closely. “You’d realize your idealistic online best friend is the class stoner, the one with the fucked up family, and no friends. It was only a matter of time you’d figure out the person behind the screen isn’t who you thought.”

“You’re right,” Evan agrees, and Connor tenses up. “He’s even better.”

Connor turns to face him again, a small but unmistakable smile on his lips. And then suddenly, everything made sense to Evan. Why Connor looked at him that way, as if he is seeing him for the very first time. The way in which he doesn’t have to say a word, because his eyes say it all. Like Evan is the sun; so radiant and bright, it is impossible to look away.

But Evan knew, and he knew he would trade anything in the world to have Connor look at him like that for the rest of his life.

He’s about to say something when they jump at a loud crash downstairs, followed by yelling. The screaming is unintelligible until Evan hears a man shout Connor’s name angrily, and Connor instantly clenches is jaw.

“You gotta go,” Connor tells him quickly. “If my dad sees you, we’re both dead. Actually dead.”

Evan slides on his shoes, leaving the laces untied, and grabs Connor’s jacket, which gets a full-on smile from the taller boy, masked by another angry scowl when Connor’s dad screams at him from downstairs again.

“I’ll text you later?” Connor offers hopefully. “On Stigma?”

Evan gives him one last smile before climbing out the window. “I’d like that.”

Connor looks back too, just before leaving his room. “See you tonight, Cinderella. Usual time.”

Much later that night, when Evan’s up when the whole world is down, waiting for four in the morning so he can run to their meeting spot, he notices he had missed messages from Leo. Connor. Whatever.

**You have two (2) new notifications on Stigma!**

**@connor:**  fixed my name. 

 **@connor:**  i figured it’s time to embrace my real self too. 

Evan can’t suppress his grin, nor the happy tears pooling in his eyes.

 **@evan:**  Maybe this “shitty Cinderella story” has a happily ever after, after all.

\- - - -

Evan stares at the computer screen, drumming his fingers on the countertop anxiously. The large, fire-truck red  _SUBMIT APPLICATION_ button stares at him in the face, tauntingly, simultaneously beckoning and pushing him away.

“You can do it, sweetie,” Heidi says, a hand on his shoulder as she leans in, studying at the college application submission page.

Throughout the semester, Evan’s poured focus into his schoolwork and studying for the ACT, and then writing and rewriting his college essays. He’s spent months toying with different topics, from moving to anxiety to his dad’s passing, all the way to the silly things, like his affinity for trees. He still didn’t feel completely confident, but with the deadline being tomorrow, he was forced to be satisfied with his tenth rough draft.

He even got his English teacher, Ms. Doherty, to write his letter of recommendation, who was so happy he asked her, she finished it right then and there with him during the lunch period. Evan hid his embarrassment as she typed aloud, blushing at the words “once-in-a-lifetime student” and his “impeccable writing skills”.

“But what if they don’t accept me?” Evan wonders aloud, still staring ahead blankly. The words dance off the page and his vision blurs as his mind starts to churn, sorting out every possible scenario where everything goes wrong. There are lots. He isn’t a fan of any of them.

“They will,” Heidi squeezes his shoulder encouragingly. “We’ve reviewed your essays so many times, they’re perfect. Your teacher recommendations and transcripts are in, and you brought up your test score a lot.”

“My course load looks pathetic because of Redwood,” Evan frowns discouragingly. “They’ll think I didn’t try.”

“You tried so much, honey,” Heidi tells him. “More than anyone. And for that, I’m immensely proud of you. You’ve come so far, you know that?”

Evan isn’t entirely convinced, but he blushes shyly at her compliment. He debates clicking away at the last minute, saving the eighty dollar application fee, and giving up entirely, but before he can move, Heidi reaches over and clicks the button for him.

“Ah!” He shouts, scrambling for the computer mouse. “What’d you do that for, Mom?”

“Giving you a little push,” Heidi grins innocently. “Now, to submit the other three.”

Evan sighs shakily. He wants to read over his application one more time, but Heidi is already typing in her credit card information to pay for the next application fee.

Anxiety is a bitch, but sometimes you just need a spark to get you through the seemingly difficult moments. Maybe afterwards, you just might realize it’s all going to be okay.

\- - - -

With the leaves changing and California weather getting a little cooler, Evan finds himself looking forward to winter break. Two weeks away from the private school kids, who are still giving him weird looks and whispers. Now labeled as one of the openly queer kids in school - not by choice - he gets to suffer through the jeers and jocks avoiding him in the halls. Though, California kids seem to be more accepting than he thought. So he hates the whispers a little less each day.

Maybe what’s different now is his friends; with people like Michael and Zoe by his side, he’s a little more protected by the world. Back in Seattle, he had no one to fall back on when the teasing and the ignoring got to be too much, but in Elmwood, he can rant on the phone with Zoe about Rich’s seven hundredth ‘gay’ comment, or talk about escaping to college with Michael when the two play video games at his house.

And now, he has Connor too. Although the two haven’t told anyone about their relationship - even though Jared, Zoe, and Michael all found out because “you weren’t being that subtle, Evan” - they skip class together sometimes and eat lunch on the roof. They also go out on the weekends like they used to in the beginning of the school year, but Evan convinced Connor he needed to fix his sleep schedule, so they choose more reasonable times to be together.

Evan thinks they’re dating. It’s hard to say exactly, considering he’s never spoken the b-word, nor does he have the courage to bring it up, but they’re too close to be friends, too intimate to just be platonic.

So, yeah. Dating. Maybe.

At least Evan doesn’t eat alone anymore during lunch. Now, that space is shared too, which makes Evan happy. Which is becoming more of a common occurence lately.

When the fourth bell rings, Evan heads towards the back side of the school while everyone else maneuvers towards the cafeteria, he’s just about to go up the stairwell to his usual lunch spot when he hears shuffling coming from the janitor’s closet. He doesn’t think much of it, figuring it to be the janitor or some impatient, horny teenagers, but when he hears the unmistakable sound of sniffling, he takes a step back.

He knocks softly on the door, with no response. Evan is starting to walk away when he hears something crash to the ground, and someone muttering  _fuck_ underneath his breath. Someone familiar.

“Michael?” He guesses, yanking on the handle and throwing the door open. He finds Michael with a mop handle in his hand, next to a pile of fallen cleaning supplies and a stack of unrolled paper towels.

Michael quickly brushes his eyes underneath his his glasses. “Evan,” He jokes sheepishly, “Fancy seeing you here in the closet.”

“You’re crying,” Evan ignores his joke with a statement of the obvious. He takes a step in, letting the door click shut behind them. “What’s going on? Did Jeremy do something again?”

Evan can’t pinpoint the exact moment Jeremy drifted away from their friend group; it started with him dressing differently, then a newfound confidence in talking to girls, and then he was partying with the popular people, doting a girlfriend on his arm, and being a complete dick to his old friends.

Evan was used to that kind of behavior, especially after having to interact him most afternoons for play rehearsal, but it crushed Michael. He went to Evan every time Jeremy did something shitty, and Evan was there every time to pick him up.

“I can’t _believe_ him,” Michael practically growls as he kneels down to pick up the cleaning supplies. He throws them into the bucket, and Evan helps out, stacking them neatly on the shelf. “I mean, he finally gets with Christine, the girl he’s been crushing on for years. Years, Evan! And then he cheats on her two weeks later. And with Chloe Valentine too! What was he expecting? Some fairy tale romance? No.” 

Evan places a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, taking the bottle of glass cleaner out of his hand and placing it on the shelf where it belongs. “Michael, slow down. Just… breathe, okay?”

“And yet Christine’s still with him. What an idiot,” Michael insists angrily, hardly hearing him. “Can’t she tell he’s just playing this game? He’s not as smooth as everyone thinks he is. He’s a nerd, he likes video games and 80s movies. He’s scared of life, just like the rest of us. He’s… Jeremy. Not whoever that stranger in his body is.”

Evan sits down, leaning against the far wall. Michael collapses next to him, his head slouching on Evan’s shoulder.

“You miss him, don’t you?” He whispers, and Michael starts crying all over again.

He chooses not to say much after that, knowing Michael just needs someone to fall back on too. His best friend disappeared without a goodbye, and Michael’s left to pick up the pieces of his own broken heart.

And so, he just listens to Michael cry softly into his shoulder, grabbing his hand reassuringly.

They sit there for the rest of lunch, and halfway into psychology class, until Michael has no tears left to shed on his lost best friend.

“I think there’s something wrong with him, for real,” He hiccups, his voice raw and broken from crying. “He changed so suddenly… maybe he’s on drugs or something.” Evan furrows his brow, seemingly unconvinced, when Michael sits up.

“I’m serious, Evan,” He insists. He’s so convinced, Evan wonders if Michael knows something that Evan doesn’t. “Look, I’m done crying. I’m done wondering what happened to him. I’m done with giving up. I’m going to figure it out.”

“Michael, wai--”

But Michael is already out the door, running down the hall. Evan sighs into his hands, picking up the rest of the janitor’s closet before switching off the lights and heading to fifth period. He’s turning the corner when he bumps into Connor, who is just as surprised to see him as Evan is.

“Hansen!” He all but shouts, grabbing Evan’s shoulders, looking him up and down cautiously. “Why weren’t you at lunch? Or AP psych? I just skipped class to see if I could come find you. I texted you like eight times, you know, I was so worr--”

“Will you be my boyfriend?” Evan blurts out suddenly.

Connor pauses, staring at him open mouthed. Then, he clamps it shut. And then opens it again. “Yes,” He says without hesitation. “But respond to your damn texts, Hansen.”

“Sorry,” Evan grins abashedly. “I was with Michael.” A pause. “Were you really worried?”

Connor throws his arm around Evan’s shoulder, pulling him in closer as they walk down the hall. “Am I not allowed to be worried about my boyfriend?” He draws the word out teasingly.

Evan giggles, pushing him away. “Shut up, you idiot,” He laughs, but Connor pulls him in again, and Evan realizes he is exactly where he belongs.

\- - - -

The school play started just after Halloween, with after-school rehearsals twice a week. Somehow, Evan was casted as Oberon in their school’s production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which meant he had several long speeches to plan with Brooke, the girl playing his fairy queen, Titania.

Evan had to deal with Jeremy’s constant flirting with the girl, who at first, showed playful interest, but when Jeremy wouldn’t give it up, she started to ignore him more, leading him to move on to chatting up Chloe between line runs. Evan, on the other hand, found a friendship within Brooke.

Brooke and Evan sometimes hung out after rehearsal or set building, and Evan decided he quite liked her. They liked to go to Waffle House on Friday nights, running their lines over syrup and scrambled eggs. Once Brooke had admitted to Evan that she wasn’t straight, he accidentally blurted out “same”, a force of habit of being a closeted queer kid on the internet, which of course, automatically brought them closer together.

She ended up being the first person Evan purposely told about his relationship with Connor, and Brooke even confided in Evan on her crush on her best friend Chloe. The two then up gave up on reading lines and ended up pining for their crushes the rest of the night, the start of an unlikely friendship.

Evan tried to convince her to confess to Chloe, to which she offered him a tight-lipped smile and a sing-song “we’ll see”, which made him grin, because if he can do it, so can anyone.

\- - - -

6:58.

Evan stares at the clock hanging in on the kitchen wall, watching the minute hand creep slowly by.

 _This is even worse than sitting in math class,_ he thinks with disdain. He wonders if the clock is broken, because it feels like it’s been two minutes to seven for five minutes now.

“Oh my God,” he flops his head into his arms, shielding his eyes from the clock. He hears Connor groan impatiently, and the crunching of a very bored Jared, who eats chips as he watches Evan’s final undoing of his sanity.

“It’s gonna be fine, Evan,” Jared tells him. “Just calm down.”

 _Just calm down,_ Evan thinks sarcastically.   _The three most helpful words in existence. The immediate cure to anxiety. The--_

“Shut  _up_ , Kleinman,” Connor groans, and Evan can practically hear his eyes rolling. “You’ve already been accepted to Cal Poly.”

“Go Mustangs, baby!” Jared shouts through a mouthful of chips. “Hey Evan, it’s seven o’ clock.”

Evan screams in fear, shutting the computer.

“No, open it!” Peter shouts, scrambling for the computer.

Heidi leans in as well, clicking to refresh the page. “Look! It says view status update!” Evan stares at the blue and yellow UCLA login page, warm and inviting. He had decided to apply to UCLA early, wanting to stay close to his new family and qualify for in-state tuition. Evan had been refreshing his email for weeks, waiting for the status update email to be in his inbox, which is why when he saw it that afternoon, he immediately called Connor and got him to come over, alongside collecting his entire family into the kitchen.

 _Beyond that link is a letter to your future,_ He tells himself.   _It will direct you in the direction of next year. All you have to do is click it and read._

But he can’t.

“I can’t look,” Evan shields his eyes with one hand, clicking on the button with the other. A gasp fills the dead-silent kitchen, followed by an excited scream. Next thing Evan knows, Heidi is wrapping her arms around him in a crushing hug, pointing to the screen. “Look!” She shouts. “It says Congratulations! You’re in, Evan! Oh my gosh, I have to get your cake!”

Evan rips his hands away from eyes, only barely noting his mother scramble for the refrigerator as he scans the letter on the screen.

_Dear Evan Hansen,_

_Congratulations! I am delighted to inform you that the Committee on Admissions of the University of California at Los Angeles has admitted you into the Class of 2022 under the Early Action program._

_In recent years, over fifty thousand bright young minds have applied to the Department of Communications. Faced with many more talented writers than we have room to admit, the Admissions Committee has taken great care to choose individuals who present extraordinary academic, extracurricular, and personal strengths. After reading your supplemental essays, we have clear reason to believe you will make important contributions in your college years and beyond._

_Enclosed is information for your financial package for the Outstanding Author scholarship. As one of our finalists, we are offering you an all-expenses-paid tuition to our four-year Journalism program--_

Evan’s read enough.

Everyone’s watching every microexpression flickering in his face, waiting for him to process the good news.

“I got in?” He says breathlessly, but it comes out more like a question. “They liked my essay. And I’m a finalist for the scholarship.”

The whoops and cheers of his family are deafening, as Connor scoops him out of the kitchen stool and pulls him into a hug. As he’s being shaken around and congratulated, a happy laugh bubbles out of Evan’s mouth.

 _This can’t be my life_ , he thinks. Six months ago, he was about to let go of that tree branch. Six months ago, he cried when one came to get him when he fell. 

And then he sees the tears in his mother’s eyes, and the intoxicating smile on his boyfriend’s lips, and he mouths,  _I knew you could do it._

After a life of wrong turns in impossible mazes he’s finally, finally taking a step in the right direction.

_Maybe I can._

He thinks of Connor and is reminded of the stars. Someday, he may reach them. Maybe that starts today.

\- - - -

“So, I’ve been accepted to Dartmouth and Cornell, but I’m really holding out for Princeton,” Alana is saying as they kick back at the front desk, folding brochures for the planetarium’s winter break kids camp.

Evan’s jaw drops. “Dartmouth  _and_ Cornell?” He repeats incredulously. “That’s so amazing, Alana. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I mean, I guess,” She doesn’t sound too convinced. “But Redwood sends  _five_ kids to Princeton each year. You’d think they’d know how to send their decision letters faster,” She shrugs. “I still have to wait two more months. You’re lucky you already know.”

“I don’t know, not yet,” Evan corrects her. tucking a brochure into the box.

After heating back from UCLA, Evan’s also heard back from schools in Washington, Oregon, and his reach school, UC Berkeley. He was rejected from the last two, which leaves him to decide between Los Angeles, fifteen exits down the I-5 from his new home, and Seattle, a place he used to call home, but feels more like a faraway dream now.

“You have plenty of time to decide,” Alana reminds him, kicking her feet up on the front desk and pulling out a notebook from her backpack. “Meanwhile, I have to study for my calculus final.”

“I thought those were last week,” Evan cocks his head.

“That’s  _AP_ Calculus,” She corrects, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m taking Multivariable this semester at the community college,” Alana grins proudly, and Evan playfully rolls his eyes, earning a smile from the girl as she buries her nose into her work.

Evan’s about to reach for his phone to text Connor when he sees his mom enter the front doors, holding up a plastic bag as she smiles in greeting.

“What are you doing here?” He asks as she sets the bag down on the front counter.

“I brought dinner,” she pulls out a package of sushi. California roll. “Your favorite. And a slice of your celebratory cake too.”

Evan bites his lip. Imagine her disappointment if she bought a cake only to realize he was rejected. “Yum,” he opens the package, and Alana leans over, grabbing two before silently going back to her work.

“Mind if we talk, honey?” She asks.

Evan looks over to Alana, the pseudo-manager on site, and she shrugs one shoulder. “Be back soon,” she says half-heartedly, and Evan maneuvers around the counter. They sit on a wooden bench nearby the entrance, next to an overgrown potted plant.

“So this is where you work,” She looks around fondly, taking in the museum in all its Tuesday-afternoon, slow-hour glory.

“It's normally more exciting,” Evan explains, wrapping his arms around him self-consciously to cover his neon green work polo.

“It’s perfect,” She shakes her head. “I’m happy for you.”

“I like it,” Evan says, and he wonders if this is how they’re going to talk. Like they haven’t really acknowledged the elephant in the room for almost half a year, like they’re going to live out the rest of their lives without acknowledging what happened, and where they ended up.

“It’s better than your old job as the camp counselor, I hope?” Heidi jokes, and Evan nods.

“Yeah. Though the old YMCA has my camp friends.” More like acquaintances. Still, he loved the nature, and curling up in the tree branches after lights-out to admire the sky. He loved when his dad showed up on family visitation day with king-size packages of his favorite peppermint patties and something from home so he’d be a little less homesick. “I miss that.”

He did not love, however, the anger and despair he felt when he let go of that tree branch one night at camp, and the anger at himself when he realized he hadn't died, that he'd just caught himself trying. The ten minutes of excruciating pain in his broken arm were blinded by the pain in his heart as he cried, deciding that no one would ever find him.

“I know,” She looks around, noticing they are alone. Nods as if it’s an acceptable time to talk. “I miss everything.”

Evan immediately knows “everything” means his dad. Funny how neither of them are able to say the words out loud. Some things are just impossible to admit aloud, no matter how true it is.

Fact: His dad is gone.

Fact: Evan still isn’t over it.

Fact: He may never be.

“Can you believe it’s still seventy degrees in December here?” She jokes. “I never thought I’d miss Seattle’s rainy winters, but this is just… unnatural. Not to mention the weird gluten-free pizza that Peter orders. And his brown-rice sushi. That’s just wrong.”

“Takes some getting used to,” Evan murmurs. He stays quiet. He knows what she’s about to say, so might as well let her say it.

“Listen. I know it’s been hard on you this year, Evan. Jared told me what was going on at school...” Heidi says softly, clasping her hands in her lap. “And I was so wrapped up in everything, trying to adjust myself and make things more normal after your dad… I just wanted to make this work. But I forgot about being your mom along the way.”

Evan shrugs. He wishes they could have this conversation on paper, or better yet, on a screen, like he used to do with Leo-- Connor. Evan could say exactly what was on his mind, and if it didn’t turn out perfectly, he can edit and reword until it does.

“Do you want to move back to Seattle?” She asks suddenly, and Evan freezes.

She looks to him seriously, the blue eyes so similar to his shining with intensity. “If that’s what you really want, we can make it work. Anything to make you happy... We can rent a place, and you can finish up school. I’ll find the money. I’d move back here when you go off to college. Peter and I would make it work, somehow. You’re the most important thing in the world to me, Ev. I’m sorry if it hasn’t felt like that lately.”

Evan thinks about Seattle, from its rainy days to moldy apartments. The home he’s known for seventeen years. And then he thinks of the life he’s built in Elmwood. Leo and Connor, or should he say Leo/Connor, Zoe and Michael, Brooke, Peter, even Jared. How Ms. Doherty called him one of his brightest students, and his discoveries of the unknown corners of the town on four-am adventures.

He thinks about Connor’s smile, and how he wants his smile in his life.

_No._

He doesn’t want to move back.

 _This_ is his home now.

“I love Seattle, Mom. But I don’t think it would really feel like home anymore. I just feel--” He chokes on his words, swallowing. “It just kind of hurt, having to figure it all out on my own. I needed you sometimes. But you were always working, or spending time with Peter.”

“Honey, I--”

“I just was thrown into this new house, and like, this gigantic room with the weird modern art on the wall, like it was drawn by a third grader, and the weird monogrammed soaps in the bathroom, and the fancy private school where everyone drove convertibles and lived on trust funds, and it just… wasn’t home, you know?”

Heidi pulls him into a hug, and Evan sighs, a weight leaving his body and evaporating into the air

“I know you had your own things to work out, and you needed something to feel more normal, and I’m glad you found Peter, really, it’s just--” Evan sighs again. “Our world exploded. Dad  _died_. And I felt like I had to pick up the broken pieces myself. So yeah. It sucked. It really, really sucked.”

“It really did,” she agrees, burying her head into his shoulder, and as Evan cautiously wraps his arms around her, he notices she’s lost weight, and the bags under his eyes. He’s reminded she, too, has struggled these months. Whereas he lost a father, she lost a lifelong partner. Her best friend. Her husband.

She’s doing the best with what she’s got, Evan thinks. We’re all just trying to keep our heads above water.

“Okay, you can keep things from me. If you need your space because you’re mad, I totally understand. But do you think we can try to spend some more time together?” She asks hopefully, and Evan nods.

“I’d love that, Mom.”

Tears spring to her eyes, and Evan’s lip quivers.  _Don’t cry at work,_ Evan thinks.   _Connor’s upstairs, and you don’t want him to worry._

She laughs suddenly, and pulls away from the hug. “Gosh, you’re all grown up, aren’t you?” She looks at him closely. “Where’d my little boy go? The one with the Ninja Turtle nightlights and the comic book collection?”

“I still have that comic book collection,” Evan smiles. “And I’m thinking of getting some glow stars.”

She laughs again, looking around the place. “Your father would’ve been so proud of how far you’ve come, Evan,” She grabs his hand. “And he totally would’ve loved this place. He always was such a nerd.”

Evan smiles. It's the first time he's smiled instead of teared up at the mention of his dad. “I know.” 


	22. twenty-two

Okay, forget everything Evan’s ever said before about overcoming anxiety.

The amicable chatter of the excited audience sounds like a swarm of wasps to Evan, who clutches at his costume; he knows the costume girls will sass him for messing with the robe placement, but the fact he can’t breathe is currently taking precedence.

Hands shaking, he grabs his phone and begins to type out a journal entry, trying anything to distract himself from his oncoming panic attack.

Maybe writing out his feelings will help.

_December 14, 2017_

_I have no idea how these people do it all the time. And enjoy it too. The feeling of being on stage, hundreds of eyes staring at you and into your soul, critiquing your every move… I hate it. I don’t want them to look at me. I just want to disappear._

It doesn’t.

Evan saves the entry, sending a text to Connor as quickly as he can.

 **@evan:** i dnt want to go onstag e,,, freakign o ut

Connor’s reply comes instantly:

 **@connor:** want me to come backstage?

And then, after a moment:

 **@connor:** okay, i just tried to, and some tech kid yelled at me. i’m sneaking around the back, though. be right there.

Sure enough, within the next thirty seconds, Evan catches Connor slipping through the shadows of the backstage, ducking behind a costume rack. Evan stares at him in amusement as he kneels behind a prop.

“Hey,” He says curtly.

Evan swallows. _He’s wearing his hair up,_ Evan notices. And weirdly enough, his eyes are even brighter in the darkened lighting. “...Hi,” He responds timidly, offering a weak wave.

“Your hands are shaking,” Connor comments, approaching him. He grabs Evan’s hand with both of his, and Evan focuses on the warmth radiating from his skin. His nervous breath is still quick and shortened, but now, in the best way possible. “You look cute, by the way.”

Evan looks down at his costume. He’s dressed in a simple off-white tunic with silk teal and green robes covering his shoulders. He wiggles his toes, covered by an old pair of knock-off birkenstock flip flops, with added brown felt braids for a Greek look.

“Thanks,” He smiles shyly, reaching up to touch the leaf and flower crown bobby-pinned in his messy hair.

“Don’t touch!” Brooke, a costume designer for the production, commands murderously. “I _just_ styled that, Evan!”

“Oops. Sorry, Brooke,” he calls back sheepishly, turning to Connor. “Thanks for coming.”

Connor sits with him for a few minutes, and they talk about the most random of topics, from the upcoming meteor shower in March, to the planetarium’s charity ball event. Anything to distract Evan from the impending doom of forgetting his lines and humiliating himself in front of the entire school. Evan’s feeling better by the time Connor is spotted and kindly kicked out offstage, and calms himself down by listening to music. Connor made him a new mix on Spotify, a playlist he jokingly called Freckles and Constellations, which he instantly saved to his collection.

He’s fallen into the zone, eyes half-lidded and dizzily focused on the bustling crowd of tech crew, dancers, and actors. The scene is so chaotic, Evan almost doesn’t notice Michael sneak in through the loading dock door, a giant bottle of red soda tucked under his arm.

He does notice, however, Michael approaching Jeremy, who’s mouthing the words to himself as he paces around in his Lysander costume. Evan, now alert, watches as Jeremy’s face softens when he sees Michael, followed by a harsh scowl. His voice is masked by the theater, but Evan thinks he hears an impatient “What do you want?”

Evan watches their interaction unfold. Michael looks desperate as he says something, and Jeremy makes a move to walk away, when Michael grabs his arm and pulls him back, into a hug. Jeremy, surprised, stands still as Michael holds him, whispering something.

Jeremy takes the bottle of soda from him and drinks from the two-liter, the red liquid splashing on the floor as he doubles over, clutching at his head. Michael dives for him while someone grabs the spilled soda bottle, shouting for Michael to leave immediately, but he ignores her, watching Jeremy intently as he dry heaves, clutching at his stomach.

“Michael! What did you _do_ to him?” Evan shouts worriedly, running over to help hold Jeremy up.

He only catches fragments of Michaels explanation, between the tears and the heavy breathing. “I… Mountain Dew Red… supposed to fix him…” He gasps as Jeremy collapses. They’ve attracted a large crowd of the theater kids now, watching to see if an ambulance should be called, if the star of the play would be able to continue on.

After a moment, Jeremy swallows nervously, and finally meets Michael’s eye. “H-How did you know?” He asks softly, like he’s unaware that dozens of worried eyes are on him.

“Green mountain dew starts it, red turns it off,” Michael smiles softly, the type of smile that’s only reserved for him. “You’d be surprised what just a little bit of internet research and a quick eBay purchase can do.”

Something shifts in Jeremy’s expression, and he reaches for Michael’s hand. As their eyes lock, Evan frowns in confusion, and he’s about to interject asking what he missed when their theater director shouts for a two-minute curtain call, and a makeup artist drags Jeremy/Lysander away for opening places, and Michael watches him go, brushing away tears with the back of his hand.

“Everything okay?” Evan comes up behind him, which startles Michael out of whatever dream-like reverie he’s floating in. Michael jolts and looks at him in surprise, hesitating a moment before nodding.

“Yeah.” He says. And then again. “Yeah. Um, I think we’re good. Maybe. We have a lot to talk about.”

“What’s up with the Mountain Dew?” Evan points to the half-empty bottle.

Michael flushes and tucks it under his arm. “Its, um, a long story,” He looks away, where Jeremy was previously standing. “I should get back to my seat. Break a leg, Evan.”

He runs off, looking dazed and drunk on happiness before Evan can get any more information out of him. Evan sighs, pushing his hair back, only relieved that his friends will be talking to each other again, even if it means he’s left out of all the little details. One of the cast managers drags him to his place.

And when Evan hears the applause and sees the heavy green velvet curtain rise, his heart drops to his toes and mind flies out the auditorium completely.

\- - - -

As expected, the play does not go perfectly.

Throughout his conversation with Christine, acting as Puck in the play, Evan becomes acutely aware of the hundreds of people zeroed in on his words, his actions, every single moment, judging if he did everything just perfectly. Which is why it is only to be expected that he trips over his line, mumbling through _let her shine as vigorously as Venus in the sky_ , and forgetting his next line completely.

In a brief moment of panic, he looks to his right, and sure enough, in the front row is Connor, watching him with widened eyes. He gives Evan a reassuring thumbs up, and mouths _you got this,_ and Evan bites his lip and fumbles through the rest of the conversation, only feeling better until the very last line when he can literally disappear off the stage, running faster than she should have.

“You okay, Evan?” Brooke comes up to him as he heads towards a dark corner of the backstge. She has a maiden’s robe costume tucked under one arm, a makeup bag in the other, and she shifts them in one arm to put the other on her hip defensively. “You look a little pale.”

“How bad was it?” Evan whispers in a rush, looking rapidly between her and behind the drawn-back curtains, where the four main characters wander through their cardboard forest.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Brooke assures him, setting down the items on top of a nearby speaker and grabbing his shoulders. “Look at me, Evan. We all make mistakes in theatre. It’s just part of the experience. Trust me, no one will remember. They’ll be too busy thinking about how cool you are in the rest of the performance.”

Evan bites his lip, unable to fully believe her. “But--”

“No buts! Now, get back out there and crush it,” She demands. “You have talent, Evan! And the whole world needs to see it!”

Evan waits for his cue and squints at the bright lights, afraid to come out of the shadows. But he swallows, thinks of the fact that Connor’s cheering him on in the audience, and relishes in the applause as the scene changes.

The rest of his lines go seamlessly. Somehow.

Maybe it’s because he’s so hopped up on adrenaline and anxiety, the only thing capable of coming out of his mouth are the lines he’s repeated in front of the mirror hundreds of times. Even though he spoke in a rush, it still worked.

And when the final curtain rises and they have a group bow, Evan sees Connor cheering louder than the rest. (Evan’s unable to hold back the smile he’s been resisting, and nearly tears up as he grabs hands with the cast and allows the applause to wash over him.)

When the audience stands in the auditorium lobby, small-talking and eating store-bought bake-sale cookies from one of the charity club fundraisers at Redwood, Evan bursts out of the auditorium to find Connor, only to run into Peter instead.

“Careful, kiddo,” Peter chuckles as Evan adjusts his costume nervously. Evan notices after collecting himself that Peter is holding a bouquet of flowers - yellow tulips - that he’s offering into Evan’s hands. “Your mother picked them out. But she went off to find you, and now here you are, so… here.” He offers them out with a dopey smile.

“Oh. Thanks,” Evan looks down at the bouquet so he doesn’t have to look Peter in the eye, because this is starting to feel like a father-son bonding moment, and Evan doesn’t have those, not since last year when he had the last one of his life. When he squeezes the bouquet, he remembers squeezing his dad’s hand in the hospital for hours, only allowing himself to cry when he fell asleep. Only when he couldn’t see. He always promised his dad he’d be strong; how disappointed would he be to know he’s really just weak?

“He would’ve been so proud, you know,” Peter comments, and Evan looks up at him in doe-eyed surprise; it’s like Peter read his mind. Peter scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Your mom told me about him. How much he loved you, saw your talents. She told me you had quite a passion for acting when you were a little kid.”

Evan feels himself blush. His mother is exaggerating; Evan’s so-called “passion” was his excitement to be cast as one of the knights in a princess-dragon play his fourth-grade class performed for their end-of-year festival. Knight number two, to be precise. Yet Evan still wore his plastic armor with pride, and beamed with pride as his father gave him a standing ovation at the end of the play, even though he only had a monosyllabic line. Evan had tossed himself into his dad’s arms and they went out for celebratory ice cream.

“I hope so,” Evan agrees weakly, and for a moment he’s encapsulated in anguish, his heart flooding with grief and tears that just won’t come to his eyes anymore. “I mean, at least I get speaking roles now.”

They stand there, and Evan shifts his weight on his feet awkwardly, and Evan becomes acutely aware of the tangible cloud of tension between them.

A few beats pass.

And then, Peter blurts out suddenly, “I know I’m not what you need to be right now,” He admits. “I mean, your whole world was flipped upside down. Sometimes I can be a bit… overbearing, I know, with my organic dinners and odd conversations, but I guess my best method for coping with awkwardness is making jokes.”

Evan shrugs half-heartedly. “It’s okay...”

“I can never replace your father, and I understand that,” Peter looks at him seriously, and Evan finds himself unable to look away. “But I want you to know I’m here for you. Whenever.”

“Thanks,” Evan mumbles, cheeks still flushed with shyness. “It’s just… sometimes I work the best when I’m alone,” He admits. Peter’s face falls a little bit, and he clears his throat. “But not all the time,” He adds hopefully.

Peter smiles again. Relief. It’s a step; Evan taking him into his life. A step towards accepting the void from his father can never be truly filled, but a new place in his heart can be made on its own.

“Not all the time,” He repeats, pulling Evan into a hug, who, strangely, doesn’t have the automatic urge to pull away.

\- - - -

“We don’t have much time,” Evan reminds Connor in between sloppy, quickened kisses, his lips burning from the friction. “Reception starts in - _ah_ \- fifteen.”

“That’s enough time,” Connor connects his mouth to the flushed skin of Evan’s neck. Evan bites his lip to keep from whimpering as he’s pressed against the backseat of Connor’s car. He fumbles with Connor’s shirt buttons desperately, messing up the previously-ironed out fabric with his clawing fingers.

“We’re gonna look like messes,” Evan says as Connor flips him over, unbuckling his belt.

“The morning-after-prom look is good on you,” Connor teases and Evan bites his bottom lip again, closing his eyes. Connor’s hands are everywhere, like shooting stars throughout every nerve of his body, and he’s leaning his head back when he hears a persistent knock on the side of the car, and the side door opening. Zoe’s standing there in a baby pink scallop dress and a white denim jacket, looking both unfazed and impatient.

“Can you two idiots please hurry up? The wedding is about to start,” one hand is on her hip, the other is propping her up on Connor’s car.

Evan’s face instantly resembles that of a tomato, whereas Connor clicks his tongue in annoyance at his sister. “We’re kind of in the middle of something, Zoe. Give us a second.”

Zoe huffs and slams the car door. Connor connects their mouths again, softer this time, brushing Evan’s cheek with his thumb. “Her timing is awful,” He jokes, and a nervous laugh bubbles out of Evan’s mouth. They unwind their tangled limbs and start to redress.

Evan’s hands are shaking so much he has to have Connor tie his tie.

“You know, Hansen, typically its the bride and groom that are nervous on their wedding day,” Connor reminds him teasingly as he leans over to loop the thin piece of silk fabric around Evan’s neck.

Evan tries not to think about the feeling of Connor’s fingers brushing against his collarbone, careful not to initiate a round two only a few minutes to the reception, and instead gazes at himself in the full-length mirror hanging on in the wall.

He is dressed nicely enough, the suit is from a shopping day with Peter, where the two went with Jared to pick out matching suits. “For the family photo,” Peter had said. “We will all want to match.”

Evan shakes his head and tightens the tie himself, feeling a warm blush creep up the back of his neck. “So sue me if I’m nervous,” Evan retorts stubbornly, “My mom’s getting married today. It’s kind of a big deal, Connor.”

Connor chuckles, dusting off Evan’s blazer, and leaving his hands there. The gesture is more tender than anything, but Evan still feels his face burn. “Its weird, yeah, but your mom’s happy now, Evan,” He reminds him. “Isn’t it about time she got something she deserves?”

Evan isn’t convinced. It’s all too weird to accept. “I… guess.”

They climb out of the car, Zoe instantly rolling her eyes at the sight of Connor’s half-buttoned shirt. “Do you _realize_ how trashy you look right now?” She nods her chin in his direction.

“Everyone hooks up at weddings, little sis,” he pats her shoulder before walking on, fixing his buttons.

“What- _ever_ ,” She grumbles, linking her arms around both boys. “We need to hurry up. Can't miss your mom's big day, Evan.”

The three enter the open-doored church, following the decorated sign that points them towards the reception room, where unfamiliar people cluster around the door as they chat and/or file inside. Evan only recognizes a few faces, distant family members and coworkers from work dinners Evan didn’t want to attend, but mainly strangers.

Considering his mother only had one sister - his dad had the big extended family, with six older siblings and over a dozen cousins - most of the invitees must be Peter’s guests. Which Evan didn’t really mind, but it meant he’d probably be introduced to new people, and he’d stress about remembering names to faces and acting like a functioning human being.

An usher guides them to the third row on the left, the bride’s side, right next to Michael and Jeremy, the latter wearing the seldom-mentioned blue suit.

“Nice suit,” Connor snorts at Jeremy as they slide into the empty seats.

“I told him not to wear it,” Michael rolls his eyes playfully. “He looks like a douche.”

“Oh, shut up. You think I look good,” Jeremy jokes, and Evan sighs, a weight off his shoulders. Miracously, Jeremy’s back to normal, and neither he nor Michael will explain what happened before or after the night of the play. _All you need to know is that he’s back,_ Michael had told him. Which was good enough for Evan.

Evan spots Jared on the altar, clutching his hands behind him and looking nervous as he stares at a floral decoration, unaware of the other three much older groomsmen talking to each other.

Evan must’ve gotten his attention by staring, because Jared looks at him weirdly when they make eye contact. Evan gives him a weak but reassuring thumbs up, and Jared smiles a little bit.

He isn’t sure where he and Jared stand in terms of closeness; they don’t talk much, and they argue over what to order for dinner for the most part, but they’ve had their moments. Evan coming out to him. Then Jared coming out right after. Quietly binge watching drama shows together. Jared teaching Evan how to cook organic food (which Evan is slowly getting used to), while Evan shows him how to illegally download music.

They sure as hell aren’t going to be brothers. Who knows how long it’ll take for Evan to think of Jared as family. But for now, maybe, just maybe, he considers him a friend.

\- - - -

All his life, Evan thought it was ridiculous how people cried at weddings in movies and TV shows.

And then, he lays eyes on his mother walking down the aisle, and Evan totally gets it.

She is, in a word, _radiant_. All the white, from the flowing silk dress to the pearly smile, it is almost painful to look at. And yet, Evan can’t tear his eyes away from the delicate lace embroidery, or how her hair, usually in a low ponytail, is brushed out and curled perfectly, tucked into her veil.

Evan notices how tightly she’s gripping her bouquet. Lily of the valleys, peonies, and white roses. Her fingers are shaking. She’s nervous. Incredibly so.

But then they share a reassuring smile, silently reminding each other that the other one is finally happy, and she turns back to her awaiting husband-to-be, staring at her with a starstruck look on his face.

Evan wonders what his dad would say if he knew she was remarrying today. Maybe he'd be mad, or jealous. Or maybe he'd smile, knowing it's for the best that she moves on, that they both do. 

Or maybe he'd say that she looks beautiful, too.

\- - - -

Later that night, the wedding blended into the reception. Evan feels like he’s fallen through the pages of a fairytale, the ballroom filled with bright smiles and expensive outfits. It sparkled with way too much crystal for Evan’s taste; he found the flaunting of Peter’s Silicon Valley wealth tacky. He elects that when - if - he gets married, he’ll keep it small, with family and close friends, immediately rushing off to some remote location for a honeymoon.

The ballroom is too massive, which only adds to his nervousness. Even though almost a hundred guests are attending the reception, the room still feels empty with its sky-high ceiling and skylight. The enormous windows on the west side allow the crimson sunset to melt through the glass.

Evan watches the dancers, twirling like tops and unraveling in velvet colors, for a few moments as he waits for Connor to come back from the bathroom.

He glances longingly at the glasses of champagne on the adults’ tables, organized to keep certain family members together and others apart. Even if it’s his mother’s wedding, it’s still a party, and Evan Hansen doesn’t _do_ parties. He writes, he studies. He wallflowers. _Maybe a glass would get me through the night,_ he thinks, moving towards the giant silver tray.

Just as his fingers curl around the stem and he’s raising the champagne flute to his lips, he senses a presence behind him, whispering “What do you think you’re doing?”

Evan chokes on the champagne and swallows it painfully, whirling around to find Connor watching him in amusement. “Don’t scare me like that!” He cries, holding his drink tighter out of fear.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to have this,” Connor smirks, grabbing one of his own. Evan narrows his eyes scornfully, about to say something when Connor raises his glass. “I’m just messing with you, Hansen, jeez. Cheers.”

“To making it through this year,” Evan says after a moment of thought.

“We haven’t finished it yet,” Connor reminds him. “Three more months until graduation.”

Evan clicks his tongue. “To finding each other.”

Connor pauses. And then, a smile. “Yeah,” He says softly, clinking their glasses together and drinking them.

They stand shoulder to shoulder, backs pressed up against the back wall of the ballroom, watching the chaos unfold on the dance floor and the dinner tables. People of all ages are dancing to an Ed Sheeran love song, some trying to slow dance with others moving twice as fast as the beat. Evan spots Jeremy and Michael on the dance floor, Jeremy’s arms wrapped around Michael’s shoulders and his hands on Jeremy’s waist. They aren’t looking at anything but each other, like the world has melted away. Evan sees Michael mouth something incomprehensible at Jeremy, and he blushes, smiling.

“They look like a couple,” Evan blurts out.

Connor looks in the same direction of his gaze, spotting the two. “Oh, Mell and Heere? They are.”

For the second time, Evan nearly chokes on his champagne.

“ _What_?!” He all but shouts.

“Uh, yeah?” Connor looks at him weirdly. “Stop shouting. People are staring.”

Sure enough, a few people from a nearby table are turned around, glaring at Evan. He feels his face go red and he shrinks down. “Sorry. What?” He says softer.

“They’ve been dating since, like, sophomore year,” Connor explains with a bored expression. “How did you not know this?”

“No one told me!” Evan insists. “I only moved here this year.”

“They’re so _obvious,_ Evan. First me, now them? Clearly, you are just oblivious to these signals,” Connor wraps his arm around him, holding him in a comforting way that says _you're an idiot_. Which he is. Whatever. He never said he was good with love.

“But-- wha-- I-- they--” Evan splutters.

Everything makes much more sense now, he realizes. Why Michael and Jeremy are too close to be friends, from shotgunning smoke to weekend “sleepovers”, and why Michael was so distraught when Jeremy suddenly abandoned him. Why they look so in love right now. Evan feels himself smile and he’s so happy. Knowing this makes them being back together so much more rewarding.

“Oh shit,” Connor whispers suddenly, his face going pale. “I think your stepdad’s looking at us. Go go go!” He shoves Evan forward.

Without a second thought, Evan sets down the drink on a random table quickly and lets Connor grab his wrist as they rush into the crowd of dancers. He shakes his head, laughing a little. “That was just a bad plan,” Evan laughs, and looks up at his boyfriend, smiling. Connor stares back for a moment, and then offers out his hand in a silent offer to dance.

They begin to dance together, melting into each other like a larger, living, breathing body. The music conducts their every step as they move. They twist, turn, holding hands as they switched sides. They are all goofy grins, breathy laughs, possibly looking like idiots but they couldn’t care less.

Inside, Evan feels happier than he had felt in a long, long time. There is no time for thinking, wondering if people were staring or judging, because he is moving so fast, all he can do is live in the moment. His insides are too busy doing goofy somersaults over each other for him to worry about what anyone thinks.

And this moment he was living in, it is one he never wants to leave.

\- - - -

For perhaps the dozenth time that winter, Evan’s grateful Connor’s offered him his jacket.

“You know, you should just keep that,” Connor nods his chin in Evan’s direction, just as he’s shoving his hands into the coat pockets to keep himself warm. He feels the pill bottle, the same one he noticed at his walk on the beach. His fingers curl around it, the childproof cap, the cool plastic, and wonders if he should take it out and ask Connor about it.

But he chooses not to.

Since he found out that Connor is Leo, he’s been pushing Connor to take steps towards rebuilding his life. Confiding in his mom a little more, trying to relate to his sister before they both head off to college and never try to rekindle, getting on proper medication. Therapy. Loosening the chokehold.

And, of course, pushing him towards applying for the art school he was interested in, instead of business or finance like his dad demanded of him.

All of this, all the baby steps that have been taken towards slowly fixing a broken boy, accumulate to the next minute, when decisions for said art school come out. The CalArts page was said to update at 8 am Eastern Time with an email notification, 5 am Pacific.

Evan had promised Connor they’d meet up at their favorite spot, the other side of the beach by the cliffs, to check together. (Connor was too afraid to look by himself. And he knew both of them would be awake anyway.)

Evan rests his head on Connor’s shoulder, leaning towards him for warmth, taking his non-occupied hand to squeeze it reassuringly. Connor looks at him with a soft gaze, shadowed by the predawn darkness.

“Three minutes,” He mumbles nervously.

“Maybe set the phone down,” Evan suggests gently, taking it and tucking it into the jacket pocket. “Just… sit with me?”

Connor bites his lip and squeezes his hand back. “Fine. You win, Hansen.”

They sit. Watch the stars. Try to ignore the college kids curled around a campfire on the other side of the beach. It’s oddly quiet, it’s cold, but it’s perfect, somehow.

He couldn’t even begin to try to count how many were scattered across the sky. It was so different from Seattle, carbon dioxide and light pollution blocked them out. The stars were surreal; they illuminated the darkness, melting away all his fear. In that moment in time, Evan didn’t have to think of time running out; he wrapped himself up in the stars and drifted away.

“It’s insane, right?” Connor comments. “I’ll never get used to this view.”

Feeling dazed, he barely manages a nod, pulling his legs close to his body while Connor lets his legs dangle off the side.

“There it is,” Connor murmurs, pointing towards the sky. “Leo.”

“That’s you,” Evan agrees, a smile tugging at his lips. “Even though you’re a Virgo.”

“Actually, I lied about that,” Connor purses his lips. “Didn’t want you figuring me out so suddenly,” He chuckles a bit at Evan’s pointed glare. “If I had known you were so oblivious, however, I would’ve made it much more obvious. And I did.”

“You know, I feel like I subconsciously knew it all along,” Evan muses, even though admittedly, he knows he was oblivious to any hints Connor may have dropped. “I just didn’t think I’d have a chance with you or something. And I got too fixated on the fact that Lorenzo showed interest in me,” He adds after a moment.

Lorenzo tried to apologize for that one night at Jared's party. Evan  _wanted_ to curse him out and call him out on his manipulation, but instead he stuttered through an "it's okay" and never got to say what he really wanted to, that Lorenzo hurt him in an unfixable way and he never wanted to see him again. Though, he got half of what he wanted; Lorenzo went back to Spain after winter break. He tried to follow Evan on Instagram, but Connor rejected his request and blocked him before Evan could do anything. "He's not good for you," he had said. "There's no need to be so nice to everyone. Not everyone deserves someone as good as you."

It's the other way around, Evan had always thought. But now, he's starting to open up to the idea that he deserves happiness. Belonging. Love. And here, at Elmwood, he's finally finding it.

“You always had a chance,” Connor whispers, breaking him out of his reverie. And then, even softer: “Whoever you are. Carter, Evan, whatever. It’s just, you, you know? It’s always been you.”

Evan doesn’t know what to say. Connor nudges him, assuming he’s spaced out or something, and narrows his eyes in silent indignation. Evan flushes, and as the pieces fit together, he realizes even if he wasn’t Leo, it’s always been Connor too.

“Oh _fuck!_ ” Connor curses loudly, reaching for his phone. “Thanks for distracting me, Hansen, nothing like getting me to be a sappy idiot to pass the time-- oh my god, why is the service out here so fucking terrible, come on, _refresh_ \-- shit, update available! I don’t want to check!” He shoves the phone in Evan’s lap. “You check.”

“It’s your application, Connor,” Evan forces it back into his hands. “Just log in, and we’ll look together, okay?” He grabs the sides of Connor’s face and tilts it towards him to make sure their eyes meet. “Man the f-fuck up.”

Connor’s face turns the slightest shade of pink - Evan finds it's cute that he's embarrassed - and his lips quiver into a smile. “Oh my god, you cursed,” He snickers, his head falling in his hands. “That was hilarious. And adorable.”

Evan rolls his eyes. He stuttered his way through it, anyways. He wishes he could blame it on the cold, but in all honesty, he’s still not used to the close proximity. “Just c-check it, okay?”

Connor’s fingers are visibly shaking as he types his login information and presses the button. Evan watches his expression carefully, from the widening of his eyes to the comical gasp that flies out of his lips. “Shit,” He whispers, covering his mouth. Shitshitshitshitshi--” He thrusts the phone into Evan’s face. “I got in!”

Evan grins, his heart flooding with happiness at the sight of Connor so excited, so giddy, so positively radiant. He is every star at once, endless and ablaze, making up each constellation in the sky. “I told you,” He smirks.

Connor kisses him excitedly, smashing their lips together in a way that is messy and forceful,  yet strangely perfect at the same time, hands cupping his wind-flushed cheeks as if to never let him go. When he pulls away, Evan drinks in the radiation of Connor’s ecstasy, shaking from the cold and the adrenaline all at once.

“I got in,” He repeats, flopping on the ground. A cloud of dust arises around him, and he coughs, but he doesn’t even care. “How did I do it?”

“Because you persevered. You took control of your life, even when all odds were against you,” Evan offers, slowly lying down next to him, brushing a rock from underneath his head. “Because you’re amazing, and your art is wonderful, and because you deserve the world and more.”

In all honesty, Connor was on the fence in getting in. Although he kept up with schoolwork, his attendance was poor from all the skipping, and his average grades looked poor coming from the highly-academic private school. Somehow he managed to get a good set of rec letters, and his near-perfect SAT score stood out when coupled with his submitted sketchbook and portfolio.

But the moment he received his acceptance, Evan realized it was always meant to be.

A sigh breaks Evan out of his reverie.

“Would you be happy if you died today, Evan?”

Evan freezes in his spot, hands clenching into fists in his jacket. He sits up slowly to get a better look at his boyfriend. He’s so taken aback by the question, he has no idea how to reply, because then, the idea that’s been trapped in his mind for so long would become a tangible reality.

He could barely admit to Leo all those months ago about his suicide attempt last summer; remembering that Connor knew all those secrets, all those hushed words at late-night hours that he was too embarrassed to say out loud, and that maybe, just maybe, Connor judged him for all his fear, his sadness. That he, too, would eventually leave.

“I… I’m not sure,” He whispers instead. “What about you?”

“If you had asked me that a few months ago, I would’ve told you yes in a heartbeat,” Connor admits, playing with a piece of grass on the field. “I’ve considered suicide one too many times. It all seemed easier - comforting even - for everything to end. My dad could finally breathe. My mom could stop worrying. Zoe would have no one to hate. No more stoner kid to laugh at in the halls. All the pain, the heartbreak, it would be over. Just an empty, blissful supernova.”

Evan’s breath hitches in his throat, but he bites his lip to keep his expression neutral.

“And I don’t believe in miracles, but shit, it’s like you came out of a fairy tale book, Cinderella, because you swept me away and I didn’t even know who I was anymore,” Connor shakes his head, his hair falling in his eyes. “I never knew all I needed was one person to be my lifeline, someone to remind me my life meant _something_. That was you. It's like you said at the reception. You found me.”

Connor’s looking at him seriously. Evan watches as his expression, holding a thousand emotions at once, morphs into one of happiness.

“You’d think, though, that if you were content with your life, it would be okay to die,” He says, turning away, looking off onto the horizon. “But I disagree.”

Evan’s words are choked in his throat as he tries to speak. “W-What do you mean?”

“I mean… I want to hold onto this happy feeling?” He guesses. “I want to _make_ something out of my life now, _be_ someone I’m proud of. Surround myself with people who love me, live my dreams and all that fairytale bullshit. But in order to do that, I have to keep living. So no, I wouldn’t be happy if I died today.” He turns on his side to look back at Evan, and he looks worried. “Hey… why are you crying?”

“O-Oh,” Evan’s hand flies to his cheek, brushing away hot tears with the back of his hand. He laughs nervously, voice shaking. “I didn’t notice.”

“Come on, Hansen,” Connor rolls his eyes playfully. “I’m not going anywhere. Thanks to you.”

They lie there for a little more, watching the stars. Evan becomes transfixed on a certain constellation. Connor’s humming something under his breath, a tune that comforts Evan. The seconds melt into hours until the sun dips over the horizon.

The unspoken words he’s too afraid to say taste sweet on his lips.

 _You found me, too._  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!! oh my goooood i'm crying. help. thanks so much for all the support for this fic, it was so much fun to write and it's really hard finishing it all up!! 
> 
> keep your eyes open for new fics coming soon!! i'm almost on summer break so i'll have tons of time for my favorite tree bros. i draw too (insta: @hanimehime) if you wanna see my fanart of them lol
> 
> also, i think i may post something short after this that's like, evan's college essay or something. idk. would anyone be interested???


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